The Elfor Drop
Author: R.R. Haywood
Date: 2020-12-29 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Dystopia; Humor; Space Opera; Space
Description: A fleet of 40 worldships carrying the last remnants of humanity on a mission of survival trying to find a new home...but what if a new planet were found – would it bring happiness and hope – or start a war that would rip the fleet apart? Coming from the poverty-stricken Elfor settlement on the Humility, Master thief Yasmine Dufont just wants a way off the stinking ship and to put a whole lot of distance between her and gangster ex-boyfriend, Dimitri. But when a dream score of credits goes disastrously wrong, she’s left on the run with a hidden code that everyone seems to want to get their hand
Rights: Copyright 2021 RR Haywood. All rights reserved.

The Story So Far . . .

A fleet of forty worldships travelling through space searching for a new home.

Between them they carry the millions of survivors taken from Earth just before the meteor struck over one hundred and twenty years ago, destroying the planet and ending all life.

Our story takes places on the Worldship Humility, which also has the Elfors, a place never intended for human habitation but a certain shuttle captain tasked with ferrying survivors from the doomed planet Earth decided to break the rules, and instead of saving the rich and entitled he went to the poorest parts of Earth, scooped whoever would fit into his shuttle, took them up to the Humility and pushed them into the lower four levels.

By the time whoever was in charge realised what was going on it was too late to get rid of them. So instead they put control points on the stairwells and staffed them with violent guards armed with voltage sticks.

It turns out, however, that the poor are born survivors. They have to be, and generations later the lower four levels became known as the Elfors. One of the most densely packed places in the fleet. Plus, they’ve got Neon City. Imagine Las Vegas dosed on steroids and Elfor Juice and you’re not even close.

People across the fleet go to Neon City to get laid. Get high and get drunk, because all credits are good credits, no questions asked. And where there’s desire and money the rules can be bent, because although the paying punters can come and go freely, the unregistered Elforists who run Neon City cannot. That’s because Elforists are still classed as stowaways with no legal rights. Or, as everyone calls them, gutter rats and scum.

Unless you’re like master-thief Yasmine Emile Dufont who uses stealth and guile to slip through the guard stations – which normally means running through while there’s a big punch-up going on.

Yasmine’s mom was a prostitute who died in childbirth and left Yasmine to be raised by Colly in one of the far edges of Level 40. They ate rats and ran free. Wild Yassy, Pretty Penny. Karen Big Feet. Chatty Simon, Mad Eyes Ken, Guphy Gupherson and Dmitri.

They were close, too. They only had each other. Then, one day, Simon’s dad killed Simon’s mom and it all changed.

Simon and Dmitri attacked Simon’s dad. The others joined in and beat the guy to death. Apart from Yassy and Penny, who couldn’t do anything except watch on in horror.

Things changed after that. Dmitri changed. He became sick and twisted. He was Yasmine’s boyfriend up until that point, but as he got older he got more violent. The Elfors do that to people. You get tough or you die, and Dmitri got tough. Now he’s the top dog and controls a lot of the bouncers and hookers.

Most of the businesses operating on the fringes of Neon pay him for protection too. He rules with fear and he grooms kids so they’ll go to work as hookers and rent boys. He became a nasty piece of work, but the worse he got, the more Yasmine stood up to him. Wild Yassy. Fearless Yassy. She said no to his demands, but nobody says no to Dmitri. He took what he wanted, and he hurt her badly. He hurt her a lot.

Yassy changed after that too. She became even wilder. She drank a lot. She took drugs. She partied and stole and ran and kept running to stay away from Dmitri and his crew.

Except there’s only so much running you can do on a spaceship. Especially if you’re an unregistered gutter rat who isn’t allowed to live among the upper levels – and at the age of thirty Yasmine realised the partying had to end. She needed something bigger. Something that would get her away from the Elfors. Something big enough to pay for a trip to the Ab-Spa where Dmitri couldn’t get to her.

She needed to score big and get off the Humility.

Luckily, while hustling about, she bumped into Mahatma Goudier. A woman that looked just like her.

It was an offering from the Gods of Stealing and Yasmine was never going to turn that down.

She tracked Mahatma and found out she worked in the Fleet Finance offices on Level 25 – and boom. That was the big job right there. Yasmine was going to use her likeness to Mahatma Goudier to get inside the Finance offices and steal some credits.

But Yasmine couldn’t do that alone. She needed help, which is when she met Sam Gablinski.

Sam worked as an airlock operative. He was cute, too. Shy, but nice with it, and they teamed up. Sam even helped Yasmine when Dmitri sent his crew after her because she’d killed a Russian doctor who kept touching her up when she was hurt. She’d said no. She’d told him to stop. The doc carried on. She hit him once and he had a heart attack, but he’d paid for protection and that was all the motivation Dmitri needed to get revenge. He was still obsessed with Yasmine, and if he couldn’t have her, then nobody would.

Sam helped Yasmine get away from Dmitri. They ran through the Elfors together and Sam hacked the grav-drives, but they got caught in the Ritzy Ditzy nightclub by Dmitri and all hell broke loose.

Abdul Shariff, the Elfors’ only elected councillor, ended up stepping in with his security team – Colin, Pasha, Boris and Clara – to give Dmitri and his crew a hiding.

Sam and Yasmine got away, but that meant they owed Abdul a favour.

Yasmine then told Sam about her plans to steal credits. They were hanging around a café called Sven’s Eatery, but it wasn’t doing so well. Sven was losing his business. Then Sam, being the techy genius that he is, developed some adverts that went viral and pretty soon everyone in the fleet was hearing about Sven’s Porridge and Jam.

Sven got busy and Yasmine got a real job being a waitress, and if Yasmine were ever asked, she would say it was the best time of her life.

If only it had stayed that way.

Then Janey came into their lives. Janey also worked in the Finance offices and had spent years being bullied by Mahatma, and eventually, after some dramas, they all agreed to knock over the Finance offices.

Sven needed the cash for his café. Sam needed to break the sterile monotony of his life. Janey needed revenge. And Yassy? Well. This was the chance to score big and run free.

They planned the job by holding a closing down party in Sven’s Eatery. But Abdul called in his favour and said he wanted to host the event to boost his political career. Yasmine didn’t mind. It meant everyone would be watching Abdul and not her or the others.

Mahatma was invited and relished the chance to attend such a high-end event. They plied her with booze, and when the time was right Yasmine swiped Mahatma’s wristband which Sam biometrically cross-linked to Yasmine.

Yasmine slipped into the Finance offices pretending to be Mahatma, and with Janey’s help she got into the credit system and stole two nice big fat crypto-bonds, which are high-yield accounts worth about a million credits each – and boom! That was it. They’d scored big.

But that’s where their luck ran out because the manager, Randolph Simpson, caught Yasmine and started pawing at her, thinking her to be Mahatma. Yasmine was trapped. She had to get free. She lashed out and ran off, but it was too late. Randolph had seen it wasn’t Mahatma.

Yasmine ran to the café and told the others. Janey was angry. Sven was distraught. Sam was quiet. They’d been caught. The cops would come any minute, and they’d be sent to prison on the Ark.

That’s when Abdul stepped in - a man has a habit of being where he needs to be.

He offered Yasmine registration and said he’d pay for her and Sam to get on the overnight shuttle to the Beijing. Yasmine was suspicious but Abdul said he wanted Sam’s IT skills for his political campaign. They didn’t have a choice, so they took his offer and ran for it.

However, unbeknownst to Yasmine and the others, there was a whole other thing going on, which is how it all culminated in Dmitri trapping Yasmine and Sam by the stairwell.

Four captains of the little quartet of ships over on this side of the fleet had hidden a secret code within the long-range probe, the shuttle Gagarin, which had recently returned from a mission with data that suggested a habitable planet had been discovered.

That was great news, and those four captains then entrusted the vice-captain of the worldship Humility, Helga Sveinsson, to input a navigational code into the mainframe computer on the Ark, which would cause the whole fleet to change course without anyone else knowing.

Unfortunately, that went wrong, because the person Helga trusted to input the code tried to blackmail her. Helga then turned to her henchman, Detective Zhang Woo, to get the code back. Zhang accidentally killed the blackmailer, but only after finding out that the secret code was hidden within the Finance offices.

Zhang was then ordered, by Helga, to seduce and coerce one of the Finance office supervisors, the very same Mahatma Goudier, and get her to run an audit to retrieve the code.

Mahatma, however, was also having an affair with Randolph Simpson and, in turn, she blackmailed Randolph into running the audit. Randolph refused, and by the time of the porridge party being hosted on Friday evening, the captains of the quartet, headed by Captain Pierre Jefferson, told Helga she must get the code back that night or face the consequences.

Helga then gave the same threat to Zhang, who passed it on to Mahatma, who in turn told Randolph she would ruin his life if he didn’t run the audit. Which is why Randolph was working late when Yasmine broke in, pretending to be Mahatma.

I know, right.

There was a lot going on.

But what Yasmine didn’t realise was that one of the big fat juicy crypto-bonds she stole was, in fact, the missing code. And while Yasmine fled the scene and ran to the café, Helga panicked and, in desperation, reached out to Dmitri the gangster and his crew to force their way into the Finance offices and get the code back.

Dmitri did just that, with the promise that he would get reward and registration, which would ultimately lead him to Yasmine. Dmitri’s crew then killed Randolph after realising Yasmine had stolen the code.

Yasmine and Sam tried to run for the overnight shuttle to the Beijing but were intercepted by Dmitri who beat the hell out of them while demanding they give the code back.

Of course, Yasmine had no idea what he was going on about. She’d stolen crypto and didn’t know anything about a code. She even offered to hand it over, on seeing Dmitri was about to kill Sam.

However, our intrepid Detective, Zhang Woo, with a surge of moral courage, then launched a rescue to save Yasmine and Sam. Which failed dismally and resulted in him also getting beaten up. But guess who stepped in and saved them again?

Yep. You got it. Abdul ran in with his security team and once more beat Dmitri and his crew away.

Abdul’s PA, and Yasmine’s former best friend, Pretty Penny, then took Yasmine and Sam to Level 20 to get on the overnight shuttle, and by the time Yasmine and Sam took their seats within the VIP section, Yasmine was registered and legal with her own wristband.

That was it. They’d done it. They’d scored big and were running free with Yasmine and Sam on the Cross-Fleet Shuttle Service, ready for a new life but without any idea of the carnage they left behind. Without any idea that Randolph was dead, and without any idea that the code they stole contained the co-ordinates for a new planet.

One person did work it out though, but then he always was smart. Detective Zhang Woo connected the dots and chased after Sam and Yasmine. He had to get the code back. He knew Helga, or whoever else was behind it, would kill everyone to get it back. But he was too late, and by the time he reached Pretty Penny on Level 20 the shuttle was gone.

Zhang was in pieces. Beaten senseless and half-drunk on Elfor Juice. Penny offered comfort, holding him close, and right before he passed out Zhang uttered a few words that would come to change everything.

‘I think they’ve found a planet . . .’

* * *

That’s where we are now. With Sam and Yasmine on board the Cross-Fleet Shuttle Service heading to the worldship Beijing, and a whole heap of carnage left behind them with Zhang Woo still passed out on top of Pretty Penny.

Got all that?

Great stuff.

Enjoy the story . . .

1

The universe is filled with energy. From microscopic particles to more complex biological structures, coexisting within ecosystems upon planets caught in the gravitational orbits of burning suns alongside billions of other star systems, all within galaxies swirling towards the pull of supermassive black holes.

And there are billions of systems within each galaxy, and billions of galaxies within an ever-expanding universe where every single thing is in constant motion.

That means neither the universe, nor anything within it, is ever still. The power of such vast, complex systems, all affecting each other, is simply too great. Planets collide and star systems crash through galaxies meet as they swirl and move. But the time that takes relative to the distances involved means that – to an organic creature with a limited life-span – space can appear to be a cold, sterile and silent place where nothing ever seems to happen.

However, one tiny section of space within the Milky Way galaxy has been rather busy lately. First from a large meteor passing through, set on a collision course with the planet Earth, and then from a flurry of probes and sensors sent in the other direction as the people on Earth quickly tried to find somewhere else to live.

That was just over one hundred and twenty years ago, and now this tiny section of space once more fills with motion as the forty worldships making up the fleet zoom through on what feels like their never-ending mission to find another planet.

It’s quiet now, though. In the fleet, that is. Night has come. Albeit an artificially induced night where the lights are dimmed and the air is made cooler – and in a private room owned by Councillor Abdul Shariff within the Level 20 VIP docking port on board the worldship Humility, Detective Zhang Woo groans softly as he starts to wake. His mind filled with dreams and images. With ideas and words and places and people. The fight on Level 30. Yassy and Sam. He dreams of Alexei Scrabel, the technician from the Ark who stole the code and died after falling down a stairwell. He dreams of many things, all very quickly, as his mind surfaces towards consciousness. Pain starts to hit. Pain in his fists that tells him he’s been fighting. He shifts a little and in so doing becomes aware that he is nestled up against a woman and, in his sleepy state, he wonders who it is. He mumbles softly and reaches a hand up, patting here and there until he finds a breast and he starts assessing if it’s a breast belonging to Carla Big Lips, his favourite prostitute in Neon City, but Carla’s boobs are quite big and this one isn’t.

‘I take it you’re awake, then,’ Penny says softly.

‘Bit,’ he mumbles, still unsure who it is.

‘Great. Then get your hand off my boob.’

Zhang frowns, trying to work out what that means, as several people clear their throats behind him. He turns fast and gawks at the line of people staring at him. Abdul at one end next to Colin, an ex-investigations commander from the Ark and now Abdul’s head of security. Clara and Boris next to Colin. Pasha at the other end – and Zhang blinks again at the figures towering over him.

He sits up in shock as Penny gently pushes his hand from her chest, while he tries to remember where he is in time and space. He starts to speak but his voice comes out rough and broken. He swallows and tries again. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in my private suite in the VIP docking port on Level 20,’ Abdul says, holding out a glass filled with a thumb’s width of glowing yellow Elfor Juice. Zhang knocks it back with a gasp. ‘Take it easy,’ Abdul says. ‘You took a few blows.’

‘Blows?’

‘From Dmitri. In the fight,’ he adds at Zhang’s blank look.

‘More than a few blows,’ Penny says, remembering the beating Zhang took trying to rescue Sam and Yasmine.

It’s blank in Zhang’s mind. He just feels exhausted and strung out, with too many thoughts whirling through his mind.

‘He might have a concussion,’ Colin says, stepping front of Zhang. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ he asks, holding three up.

‘This many,’ Zhang says, flicking his middle finger.

‘Don’t get a smart mouth with me, Detective. Now switch on and get with it. You chased Sam and Yasmine up here then said something to Penny . . .’

‘Zhang?’ Penny says from his side. ‘You said something before you passed out. You said they’ve found a planet. . .’

It’s like a gut punch, and it’s all Zhang can do to not show a reaction. He thinks fast, realising the risks at hand, and inwardly cursing himself for blurting it out.

‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Where’s Yassy?’

‘Why?’ Penny asks.

Zhang tries to think as the adrenalin starts pumping again. As his mind starts spinning too fast once more. Yasmine thinks she stole crypto-bonds. She doesn’t know about the code. That means she’ll try and cash them in to a black-market dealer, but will get flagged and traced. They’ll find her. They’ll kill her and Sam. ‘She can’t cash it,’ he says quietly, looking up at Abdul.

‘What?’ Abdul asks, leaning in closer.

‘You tell her. You tell her that no matter what happens, she cannot try and cash in the crypto she stole. They’ll kill her for it. Where did she go?’

Penny blinks, sharing a quick look with Colin and Penny. ‘The Beijing.’

‘She can’t come back here,’ Zhang whispers and rises to his feet, feeling dizzy, and only staying upright through sheer grit.

‘Just sit down,’ Abdul says, trying to usher him back as Zhang knocks his arm aside and rushes from the VIP lounge into the darkness of Level 20. His mind racing. The Elfor Juice stirs his guts up, making his limbs jittery. He staggers into the deep shadows as his wristband beeps again with another call from his boss, Chief of Police Jorgey Raynor.

‘Zhang! Where the hell are you? I’ve got Kristi Carter telling me you were in a riot with Abdul and now this robbery and murder and—’

‘What murder?’

‘Those goons you had the fight with knocked over the Finance offices on 25 and killed the damned manager! I need you here. Now!’

She cuts the call as he reels back, his heart beating like the clappers. His stomach flipping over as he realises Helga must have brought Dmitri in to find the code. Dmitri must have killed Randolph before he attacked Sam and Yasmine. This is getting worse by the second. Mahatma! Jesus. They’ll go for her next. She’s a loose end.

He lurches up to his feet too fast and staggers over to the side, head swimming as his stomach reacts, making him vomit as he tries to run. He paws at his system to call Mahatma. No answer. He tries again, then notices Mahatma has left him a video message. He swipes it to play as her face looms up. Glowing from the booze as she leaves the walkway with Sven’s Eatery behind her. The porridge party still in full swing.

‘Hey, Mr Woo. Only me! Your beautiful lover . . . I’m just heading home. Where are you? Come and see me . . .’

Zhang tenses at seeing this message is already old. She’ll be in her cabin by now. He has to get her somewhere safe. He sets off running. Willing his legs to work properly as he reaches the stairwell and starts down, taking the corners too fast and half-falling as Mahatma’s video message plays on.

‘. . . I really like you, Zhang. Like properly. For more than just fucking too. Maybe we could move in together or something . . .’

A few seconds later he reaches her cabin and knocks loudly, then figures she was steaming drunk and is now passed out. He swipes the entry panel, bringing up the cabin interface and uses his police access code to override the system. An illegal misuse for sure, but to hell with that. Too many rules have been broken already. The door opens. His face falls. His legs give way and he drops like a stone while Mahatma Goudier’s voice fills his ears.

‘I do believe I am rather falling for you, Mr Woo.’

And the last thing he sees before he passes out is that he was too late, because Mahatma is dead.

2

Friday Evening

The Cross-Fleet Shuttle Service

They stare up at the digital ceiling, a seamless translucent screen allowing an unobstructed view of the Beijing as it comes into view. Lights shining from end to end. Shuttles docking and departing.

It all looks so busy and one would imagine that with motion comes noise, but Yasmine knows space is silent. Everyone in the fleet knows that. But she doesn’t know why. In fact, Yasmine knows very little of the universe beyond the Elfors, so she frowns in the way people do when they’re a bit drunk.

Sam looks at her, and once more, the universe is forgotten as they see only each other, and the void starts to grow smaller as they move closer, mouths readying for the kiss that has still not happened.

Attention passengers. We will shortly be docking at the Beijing. Please remain clear of the exits until the shuttle has completed full docking manoeuvres.

They freeze with a flush of irritation at being interrupted once again. But it’s okay. It’s fine. They’ve scored big and stolen two crypto-bonds worth at least a million credits each, so they have all the time in the fleet to kiss, and they both smile sheepishly as they head towards the VIP exit tunnel.

‘Is it warm in here or just me?’ Yasmine asks, blowing air from her cheeks and feeling a lot more drunk than she realised. Mind you, she did down a lot of free synth bubble on the way over.

‘Yeah, it is,’ Sam says. ‘The Beijing is warmer than the Humility. The humidity is higher too – it’s down to how they circulate the air.’

He looks ahead to the concourse that gives way to the ship proper, and the huge arched sign fixed over the entrance to the lanes stretching off.

Welcome to New Beijing

A real sign, painted in red with gold lettering and glowing lanterns hanging from both ends so visitors get the instant vibe of Chinese culture.

Sam has been here before and seen that very sign. He’s been to every ship in the fleet, but only on VR tours, and nothing beats the reality of reality.

He takes it all in with wonder and awe as Yasmine keeps her gaze firmly at ground level from a lifetime of living in the Elfors. She spots a guy on the right-hand side leaning back against a wall. Another on the left of the same type. Another near him. She looks right again, seeing a fourth one near the first. A woman this time, but the same ilk as the others. Local hoods looking for an easy mark, and she makes a point of lifting her chin and hardening her features to show they’re not the weakest ones here, as Sam trips over his own feet.

‘Shorry!’ he calls out, springing back up a bit too enthusiastically. ‘I’m a bit very drunk.’

Yasmine holds him steady and looks out to see the four locals staring over. Another glare and they look away, as Yasmine finally takes in a place so very different to their own ship.

‘It’s a bit like the Elfors,’ she says, surprised at the sight of the lanes stretching off, and that same haphazard way of cramming the most amount of cabins into one place. High ceilings with double and even triple-stacked stores accessed by overhead gantries, making it looked packed in and chaotic, even though it’s night and deserted.

‘It’s said the Beijing carries more people than several of the smallest worldships combined,’ Sam says, almost proudly, and still somewhat slurred.

‘How many?’ Yasmine asks.

‘No idea. Actually, they don’t even know how many are in the whole fleet. Did you know the Canadian ship registered the same woman seventeen times in one day? Black-market dealers on Earth cloned and linked the same woman’s biometric data to whoever could pay for it.’

‘Jesus. Did they ever find the original woman?’

‘They all claimed to be the original woman . . . even the five men. And the monkey.’

‘A monkey? What happened to it?’

‘They let it go through.’

‘They let a monkey go through?’

‘It was really cute apparently, and the guards were all Canadian and really super chilled out.’

‘Whoa,’ Yasmine says, her mind blown at the concept. ‘Anyway. I’m really drunk so if you still want to do the whole boobs thing then we need to find the hotel . . . Jesus, could you move any faster?’ she asks with a laugh, as Sam punches into his system to find the hotel details Penny sent over earlier. ‘My boobs really aren’t that amazing by the way,’ she adds as Sam snorts a laugh. ‘Honestly. I’m worried we’ve built the whole thing up too much, and you’ll be like oh, they’re just boobs and I’ll be like I did tell you and you’ll be like they’re not even that big and then I’ll be like are you saying I’ve got small boobs?’ She breaks off into giggles at the way Sam laughs and glances back to the concourse, her smile fading slowly as she spots the four hoods drifting out from their positions. ‘They found a mark, then.’

‘Eh?’ Sam asks, turning to look. ‘Was he on our shuttle then?’

‘Who?’

‘Mark.’

‘What? No! I meant they’ve found a mark. You know. To rob?’

‘Is Rob with Mark?’

‘Jesus,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I’m way too drunk . . . I meant those four are looking to turn someone over.’

‘What does that . . .’

‘Rob, Sam. They want to rob someone. Mug them. Take their stuff. Pickpocket. Nick. Steal. Roll them over.’

‘Oh! That’s really bad.’

‘Yeah it is, come on . . . let’s find our hotel,’ she says, turning away, then looking back quickly as she spots the four staring at her and Sam. ‘What are they doing?’

‘Er . . . you just said they going to rob someone.’

‘Yeah, but they’re looking at us. Why are they looking at us? We’re not marks. Are you being serious? They are. Look. WHAT THE FUCK!’ she shouts out, taking a step towards them. Glaring hard. Chin high, and she switches to Mandarin. ‘WHO YOU LOOKING AT? WE’RE ELFORISTS, PAL . . . DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.’

‘Yasmine,’ Sam says, reaching out for her hand as the four share looks but keep coming.

‘Seriously! Look at them. I SAID FUCK OFF!’ she yells again in Mandarin. ‘Unbelievable. Who do they think we are?’

‘They think we’re two drunk idiots that just came out of the VIP gate from the Humility shuttle . . .’

‘What?’ Yasmine asks, glancing over to Sam, still in his nice black clothes from the party, then down at herself in the tight black cocktail dress. ‘Oh, wow. We’re the marks.’ She looks at Sam. Holding his eye contact. ‘And we’ve got two million in stolen crypto on us.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Only one thing for it,’ she says as they turn heads to look at the four sullen-faced locals coming in. ‘On three: one . . . two . . . THREE! FUCK YOU!’ she yells out, flicking a middle finger, then turns to run as Sam steps the other way, pinging each other back from their hands still being clasped. Bouncing into each other, with knees hitting thighs and heads butting. ‘Ow! What the hell, Sam?’

‘I thought we were fighting?’ he yelps, rubbing his nose.

‘I meant run,’ she says, rubbing her forehead.

‘You didn’t say run.’

‘I didn’t think I needed to!’ she says as she spots the four coming in faster. ‘Sam?’

‘What?’

‘RUN.’

They run like idiots. Barging into each other and veering all over the place, both trying to look back at the same time.

A hundred yards of sprint. A right turn. They take it fast. Too fast – and Yasmine slips on her dress shoes, sprawling out and tumbling ass over elbow. Sam turns back to drag her up as the first two locals breach the end of the walkway behind them. A flash of Elfor rage from Yasmine, and she rips her shoes off and flings them hard, smacking one in the face. ‘FUCK YOU, PUTAS!’

‘We need to go!’ Sam drags her on. She resists for a second, ready to fight. Wild Yassy. Crazy Yassy. A determined look in her eyes now because the game is on, sobering her mind fast and bringing back the laser focus of her instincts.

She runs on. Barefoot and faster now. Picking the route ahead. ‘Go up!’

Yasmine pushes him up a sloping gantry, her eyes fixed on the tables and chairs left outside an upper-level eatery. She reaches the first set and grabs a moulded chair to fling at the hoods coming after them.

‘FUCK OFF,’ she yells and grabs another, heaving it overhead to slam down as two of the men dive left and right. She grabs chair after chair, sending a barrage of furniture raining down and forcing the men back. One gets hit in the shoulder, making him tumble as something whizzes through the air and hits the wall behind them with a weird popping sound.

‘What was that?’ Yasmine asks as Sam turns to see a cloud bursting in the air. Small and dense but quickly spreading out with a noxious odour.

Yasmine glances back, spotting the woman from the group coming after them, firing a small pistol as she runs. Another whizz. Another pop behind them. Another cloud forming. ‘Gas gun . . . RUN!’

They go for it with everything they have, but the woman aims the gun, firing fast. Phut, phut, phut. Pellets hit Sam’s leg. Another strikes Yasmine’s side. Both yell out and both keep going. Coughing and spluttering, staggering into the next section and going on deeper into the vessel.

A blur of time passes. Seconds or minutes, neither can tell. The route takes them to a downward slope and they spill out into a vast open space with a jolt of shock, stunned at the transition.

‘Where the hell are we?’ asks Yasmine.

‘Confucius Square,’ Sam says, while heaving for air.

Yasmine looks about. Stores, cafes and eateries border the square with seating and tables set out, all of them now in darkness save for the odd advert left on, bathing sections in coloured lights. The room is high, too. Higher than anything she’s ever seen and without anyone here – without crowds or tourists – the place looks vast and wide and very empty. A huge wall ahead is illuminated with uplights.

‘Come on!’ She grabs Sam’s hand and runs out across the square, their footsteps echoing weirdly in the strange acoustics.

They reach the wall and hunker down in the shadows below the lights. Yasmine moves in hard to brace against the wall, before wrenching her hand back.

‘What?’ Sam asks.

‘They’ve done something to it,’ she says, sucking at a cut on the back of her hand.

‘Done what to it?’

‘I don’t know! It cut me.’

‘It’s a proper wall. Made from proper bricks.’

‘Bricks?’ she asks, snatching a look behind.

‘From Earth,’ Sam whispers, reaching out to feel the rough wall. ‘It’s the Great Wall of China.’

‘They brought a wall with them?’ she asks.

‘Not all of it. Just some.’

‘Oh,’ she whispers. Not quite sure what else to say. ‘Does it do anything?’

‘Do anything?’

‘Yeah, like . . . you know, does it light up with screens or something?’

‘It’s just a wall.’

‘I know. You said. I’m asking what it does.’

‘It keeps people out. Or in. Depending what side you’re on.’

‘How do people get inside a wall then? Do they climb over?’

‘No, you go through the . . . the gap thing. Like a door. Like a hole. A hole in the wall.’

‘Shit wall if it’s full of holes.’

‘I think it’s only got one. Or maybe two.’

Yasmine nods, then looks back across the square as the four chasers run into view. ‘We need to find the hole – but stay low – we’ll have to crawl.’

She sets off on hands and knees, crawling along the base in the shadows while staring over to see all four of the locals now heading over to the closed-up eateries. ‘I’ll say this,’ she whispers. ‘The muggers over here are very committed – an Elforist would have given up ages ago. Maybe it’s a cultural thing. You know, like some cultures are just better at focussing. I know that sounds racist, but it’s not. Anyway. Can you see a hole yet?’ She pauses to look back at Sam staring wide-eyed at her bum with a silence that stretches on for a very long time. ‘I’m not even going to ask,’ she says, crawling on. ‘Got it. The hole . . . it’s here . . . do you want to go in?’

‘Very much so.’

‘Sam!’

‘I meant the wall!’

‘Didn’t sound like it.’ She heads through the gap while Sam crawls to her side.

‘That’s the last ever Confucian Temple in the universe,’ Sam says as they stare at the beautifully ornate building with carved wooden plinths and a tiered pagoda roof with curled-up edges.

Yasmine rises to her feet, wincing at the pain in her knees, and figures the best thing would be to go around the structure and find a way out on the other side. ‘Just stay quiet,’ she whispers and sets off at a fast pace.

‘Stop,’ Sam whispers urgently, but it’s too late and the crunches echo as Yasmine’s feet hit the gravel path, the stones sounding out like a bell in the near-silent air.

‘What the fuck is that?’ she asks, dancing about in panic while staring at her feet.

‘Shush,’ Sam whispers over. ‘Stay still.’

She freezes, then blanches when the noise stops – not getting it, not understanding the material beneath her feet – and both snap their heads over to the sound of four people running across the square towards them.

Sam grabs Yasmine’s hand, guiding her on as she tries overstepping to stop the noise. They charge towards the temple and duck inside to an interior filled with columns painted in deep reds and golds and overlaid with detailed carvings. Magnificent carved dragons are wrapped around them, with scaly skin and huge flame-red tongues and enormous emerald-green eyes. The sight makes Yasmine flinch again, thinking them to be 3-D, and she waits for them to roar and fly out, but they stay motionless.

‘Through here,’ says a female voice in Mandarin behind them, and they run deeper into the temple.

‘I’m not going in the temple, Yuey,’ one of the men whispers. ‘It’s sacred.’

‘Fucking coward,’ the woman says, just before Yasmine and Sam hear three sets of feet running over the gravel.

‘This way,’ Yasmine whispers, pointing to a deep recess and they rush in to find the base of a set of wooden stairs, then over to the far side of a dark room to a section of heavy embroidered cloth hanging down, and they sneak underneath it to clamber deep into the folds, the noise of their passage now softened.

A few seconds to breathe, then Yasmine crawls on, detecting a glimmer of light ahead. An opening in the side of the temple giving a view of the outside and the gravel path below them. Yasmine taps Sam’s arm and points for him to look out at the fourth guy hanging back by the hole in the Great Wall.

‘He said he wouldn’t come in,’ Yasmine whispers. ‘Said it’s sacred . . . the woman called him a fucking coward.’

‘Where did you learn Chinese?’

‘It’s Mandarin,’ she whispers. ‘Everyone speaks languages in the Elfors. Russian, English, Chinese and like a million bits of others.’

‘That’s incredible. You’re amazing,’ Sam whispers into her ear.

She shoots him a look, still uncomfortable with compliments. ‘Not really. All that stuff you know is amazing. About the wall and this temple.’ She cuts off at the sound of someone coming up the stairs. ‘We’re going to have to run. If she gets a few rounds of that gas gun into our chests, we’ll be too busy puking to fight back. We’ll just run for it . . . ready?’

‘No, hang on.’

‘Sam, we can’t wait. We’ll end up being knifed.’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ he says, swiping his system to bring his hacking screen up, making it as small as he can as Yasmine scowls and looks about in fear of the glow being seen.

The footsteps come closer. They dare not breathe or move, and both fear their hearts will beat so loud it will give them away, then Sam once more starts moving as his fingers dance over his virtual keyboard. Yasmine nudges him with a microscopic touch to tell him to stop. To urge him to get ready to run, but he keeps going. His eyes focussed on his screen. His fingers blurring. Then he finally looks at her. His eyes wide and a weird expression on his face. Like a foreboding. She frowns. He winces. She scowls. He shows apology then hits a button, grabs at a holo image blooming out from his interface and throws it out through the opening as the virtual figure grows huge. A heavily muscled man with military-cut hair and a thick moustache that starts bellowing.

That’s the dumbest fucking thing i ever heard

‘What the hell is that?’ Yuey shouts in Mandarin.

Your role on The Worldship Humility is valued, you Dumb Piece of Shit

‘Where is that coming from?’ Yuey yells, running off down the stairs.

‘Keep going,’ Yasmine urges Sam.

Our feelings are valid, and thank you for using this End of Life Facilitation service where we grind
your bones and make you into plant food, motherfucker

They find the hole and get out, running fast towards the back end of the square. ‘Shut it off,’ Yasmine says as Sam turns to swipe his system with a grin.

Pretty Boy says hi and remember . . . don’t mess with an Elfor

He kills the feed, making the giant blink out of existence as they run for the lanes at the back of the square. A fresh burst of energy and a sense of victory gained as Sam glances over with a grin. Yasmine catches him looking and bursts out laughing, which makes him snort as they set each other off.

They hit the stairs, dropping down to the next level and spilling out into a world more familiar, with a normal-height ceiling. Lanes lead off, and they head into the closest one, rushing into the shadows to the side and pressing their backs to the wall as they gain composure. Side by side. Sweating and dishevelled. Another crazy wild night, and they share glances with flushed faces and lingering looks. Both exhausted and fit to drop, but both still smiling and glowing and she yelps in surprise when he wraps an arm about her waist and pulls her in close. The tension they had but a moment ago now changing into something else. The chuckles easing down as the smiles fade and they finally move in for the kiss that has still never happened.

‘Get a room!’ an angry voice snaps, making them look over to an older Chinese woman rushing by carrying a beaker of coffee. ‘Damn tourists . . . same every New Year . . .’

Another man behind her, sipping coffee from a beaker and looking dressed for work. He glances over with disdainful look, rolling his eyes and tutting as Sam and Yasmine slowly separate and peer out to see they’ve stopped next to a bustling eatery packed with customers grabbing drinks and others eating at tables. The scent of coffee thick in the air. A look at each other. Another grin, this one sheepish and somewhat shy.

‘Fancy a coffee?’ she asks.

‘Definitely.’ He smiles at her lingering look and follows her into the café, with patrons glancing over at the state of them, rolling eyes and tutting at the influx of drunk tourists coming in for the New Year celebrations.

A few minutes later and they stroll on past industrial and commercial units opening for work while munching fresh synth pastries and sipping hot synth coffee. A closeness now between them. A bond developing and growing. They smile while slowly meandering through lanes towards the hotel, both of them feeling the same strange buzz. This night has been something magical. Something amazing and, if truth be told, neither wants it to end.

‘That’s it,’ Sam says, pointing with his beaker to a three-level unit.

They go in through the main door and find a darkened lobby and a set of stairs leading up. They go together. Touching and brushing bodies. Smiling shyly. Yasmine biting her bottom lip. Sam clearing this throat. They reach the door to their hotel room and the desire seems to magnify by a thousand.

A sudden awkwardness. A sudden hesitancy as the energy flow between them ramps and falters while desperately trying to find the path to take.

‘It’s in your name,’ Sam says, his voice low and husky. ‘You have to . . .’ He trails off.

She nods and moves to lift her wristband towards the door scanner and it’s possibly the bravest thing Sam has ever done when he steps in and presses his lips to the back of her neck.

She stiffens instantly, gasping at the touch with a shiver running down her spine, nerves and fear mingling with lust and desire.

A heaviness in the air. Sweat beading on foreheads. Heat and humidity. Sweat and booze and running and fighting and hiding and stealing. Their need for each other now a tangible thing. She leans back, her heart booming. His the same. She turns her head to kiss his mouth with a gentle peck as though to test that this is okay. Treading ever so gently as that fear inside magnifies, but it’s okay. This is Sam. She trusts him. She kisses him again, barely touching his lips, and feels him stiffen, his body pressing into hers. A sense of panic rises but she pushes it away. It’s okay. This is okay. It’s safe with Sam. Images of violence flash in her mind from years ago and she hesitates, which in turn makes him pull back a little, as though he detects her fears.

‘Don’t stop,’ she whispers, guiding him in to kiss her neck. This is okay. This is not before. This is Sam. She trusts him, and the touch of his lips feels amazing too. The panic is still there. The images still flash. Bad images. Bad memories. Traumas replaying, threatening to take over, but Sam goes slowly, gently, carefully and she tells herself this is okay. Her heart beats harder when his hands start easing the straps of her dress down her arms. His desire growing. His need for her so very apparent, but it’s not a bad hunger. It’s not a bad energy either. This is normal. This is what normal people do and her hands shake when she guides his hands over her stomach and down so his fingers brush her bare thighs. Like a test almost. Like she is making sure, and the panic rises a bit more, but she’s still in control and this still feels safe and loving.

‘Are you okay?’ he whispers. Sensing that she’s not entirely at ease.

‘It’s good,’ she whispers back while nodding. ‘It’s really good . . .’ She breathes faster, with an urge growing by the second. It’s okay. This is okay. She loves his touch. She loves the closeness and desire. She loves feeling that he wants her too, and she can feel his erection against her hip and that’s okay. This is not before, and that charge grows when he slowly raises his hands back up over her stomach. Her hands still guiding his. Taking them up to gently ease her dress down, then moving his hands to cup her breasts. A rush inside. A gasp. The fear spikes. The images flash but she pushes them away and groans softly while trembling from head to toe.

He kisses her neck as she pushes back into him. Gasping and breathing hard. Knocking into the wall and door as they move and grind and push. The hunger ramping by the second as she curses the tremble in her legs and body. Worried that she’ll put him off. Worried that she’ll panic and push him away. But it’s okay. This is safe and her dress starts riding up with his hands on her backside. Touching her. Feeling her. It’s good, too. It gives pleasure, not only at the touch, but also from knowing he wants her.

She even reaches back with a shaking hand while he kisses and touches her, while they grind and pushes her hand to his groin, making herself touch his hardness with a deliberate act. It’s only over his clothes but it seems to charge the air even more. He gasps. She tenses with fright but that spike of fear eases down. It’s okay. She can do this. They can do this, and she unfastens his fly to take him in her hand. Her whole body shaking. Her jaws clenched shut.

‘Why are you so scared?’ he asks, sensing her fear.

‘I’m not. I really want you,’ she whispers back with a rush inside becoming urgent and hungry. Insatiable, even. This must happen right now. It has to happen right now, and she scrabbles her wristband at the scanner that pings softly and releases the locking mechanism. The door swishes back. They fall inside with Yasmine turning fast, pressing into him as his hands grab her backside and lift her up. Her legs wrapping about his waist. Their mouths moving in. Their lips touching. Everything so very fast and frantic and wild.

‘Ahem,’ Penny says.

They both yell out in fright with Sam dropping her while jumping back and trying to shove his willy back in his trousers.

‘Well howdy, Pretty Boy,’ Clara says with a wink. ‘Is that a voltage stick in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?’

3

Saturday Morning

The Beijing

A square room. Two sleeping tubes at one end. A door leading into a private bathroom.

Penny and Clara sit on a long couch fitted against the wall looking tired and stressed. Abdul’s holo form glowing up from one end of the coffee table, his eyes averted from Yasmine’s nudity. A holo glowing at the other end of the coffee table filled with a haggard looking Sven and a tearful Janey, clinging to his side.

‘Is she decent?’ Abdul asks.

‘GET OUT!’ Yasmine shouts while pulling her dress into place.

‘Jesus,’ Penny says, wafting the air in front of her face. ‘Have you been shot with a gas gun?’

‘Who shot you?’ Abdul asks urgently. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Oh god that’s so strong,’ Penny says, coughing as she moves away.

‘Is it definitely from a gas gun?’ Abdul asks.

‘Sure is,’ Clara says, rising to her feet to close the door. ‘Now, sweetie. We need to talk.’

‘We don’t need to do anything,’ Yasmine says. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t care. We’re done. We left. We’re on holiday or vacation or whatever . . . No! Seriously. We’ve had a night from hell and—’

‘Yassy, sit yourself down, honey.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do, Clara.’

‘Quit it, Yassy. Sit down. And Pretty Boy, you put your pecker away and sit down too. Now listen. What I’m going to say ain’t pleasant to hear, but y’all need to hear it. Mahatma Goudier is dead. So is the man you robbed in the finance offices . . . so you see, we really do need to talk.’

‘What’s happened?’ Sam asks.

‘Yasmine.’ Abdul peers closely at her, his voice hard. ‘I’m going to ask you just once.’

‘Do you think for one second I would drag Sam with me if I’d murdered someone?’

A second passes. A second of eyes locked, Yasmine and Abdul glaring unblinkingly at each other until Abdul finally sits back and exhales slowly. ‘Show them the clip.’

‘You two need to see this,’ Penny says, activating another holo feed as the FleetNewsCast famous reporter Kristi Carter blooms into the air.

‘It started late last night with a robbery in the Fleet Financial Services offices on Level 25 with a gang of hardened criminals from the Elfors gaining access to the facility where the manager, Randolph Simpson, was working late. Initial details suggest Mr Simpson challenged the robbers and was subsequently murdered. Those criminals then attacked more people by the main stairwell before being stopped by a police detective and Abdul Shariff’s security. That gang then fled into the Elfors, and it was at that point we heard of the discovery of the body in the Fleet Finance Offices. However, it doesn’t end there. That same detective then connected the chain of events and ran to the cabin occupied by the person whose wristband was used to gain access to the Finance Offices – a Finance Service Supervisor called Mahatma Goudier. But the detective was once again too late, and he discovered Miss Goudier had been brutally murdered in her cabin with what sources are saying was a vicious attack using a bladed instrument. And if that wasn’t enough, we then became aware that the people within the Elfors mistakenly thought the police were about to storm Neon City to arrest the suspects, which almost caused another riot, with Elforists laying siege to a guard station. Fleet NewsCast gained exclusive access as Vice-Captain Helga Sveinsson and Councillor Shariff bravely went out without security to face the angered Elforists.’

‘Jesus,’ Yasmine mouths. ‘Now that is a clusterfuck.’

4

Saturday Morning

Police HQ, Level 25

The Humility

‘What a clusterfuck.’

Chief of Police Jorgey Raynor sits back in her chair, shaking her head at the news clip hovering over her desk before she heads out into the main office and stops at the coffee machine, swiping the interface and waiting as two beakers of synth coffee are poured. She takes both and heads into another section, to a plain room filled with a battered moulded desk fixed to the floor. She puts the coffees on the desk and slides one over as she takes a seat and stares at detective Zhang Woo.

‘Drink your coffee, Zhang. I’ve just read your report.’

Zhang doesn’t reply. He doesn’t move either, his head low with strands of dark hair hanging down.

Jorgey inhales slowly, rolling her eyes at the task ahead. Interrogations and questioning are always a pain, but it’s even worse when it’s with a trained detective. She’s out of touch with this side of policing and her gut is telling her she can’t trust another detective. ‘Where do I start, Zhang?’

He finally looks up at her, his pensive eyes locking onto hers.

‘Help me out. You’re the detective.’ She leans forward with the beaker clasped in her hands and an expression that expects a response. But none is forthcoming, and Zhang is impossible to read. ‘Your report details that you were in a sexual relationship with Mahatma Goudier.’

He finally stirs and reaches out for the coffee. ‘Tell me about it,’ he says quietly.

‘Tell you about what?’

‘That’s what you say to draw the interviewee out. You say tell me about it. It’s an open question that prompts more than a one-word answer.’

‘I see, well, in that case, tell me about it.’

He looks at her over the beaker. ‘I was in a sexual relationship with the deceased.’ He sips the coffee as she purses her lips.

‘We don’t have time for this, Zhang. You need to start speaking. Was she your girlfriend? Your lover? Was this your sex addiction? Your DNA is all over her cabin. Your semen is in her vagina, but then your semen, Detective, will probably be in any number of vaginas on board this ship.’

Zhang stays silent, lowering his eyes to the desk as he holds the beaker of coffee.

I do believe I am rather falling for you, Mr Woo.

* * *

In the hotel room on the Beijing, Penny cuts the feed from the news report.

‘We need to go over this quickly,’ Abdul says. ‘Tell me exactly what happened?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Yasmine says dully. ‘Sorry. Can’t help you.’

Sam tenses, expecting an angry reaction.

‘Okay, that’s good,’ Abdul says. ‘You stick with that. Sam, you hear what Yassy just said? That’s what you say, son. Exactly that. Nothing more. Nothing less. Sven, Janey, you hear that?’ Abdul leans in again, lowering his tone. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, and we’ll go from there. Yasmine pretended to be Mahatma Goudier and got into the Finance system to steal crypto-bonds, aided by Janey who works in those offices and using a wristband hacked and crosslinked by Sam. Which is why you held the party at Sven’s, to make sure Mahatma attended so you could get her drunk and switch the band . . .’

Silence in the room as Yasmine stares off to one side, her face hardening as Abdul continues.

‘You get a couple of crypto-bonds to a black-market dealer and the dealer breaks them down and sells the values on until they’re washed clean. It’s a good score. Honestly, I’m impressed. I admire good work and that was good work.’

Yasmine shrugs and the silence returns with no confirmation given. But no denial either and Sam stays quiet too, unsure of what to say.

‘But,’ Abdul says, changing his tone slightly, ‘here’s where it gets interesting, because my back channels are telling me that Mahatma Goudier was blackmailing Randolph Simpson . . .’

A change in the room as Janey, Sven, Yasmine and Sam all listen closely.

‘We don’t know why,’ Abdul continues. ‘We don’t know anything. Just that Mahatma was blackmailing him. You need to know that because it’s highly likely that your brilliant masterplan made you knock over the Finance offices in the middle of something else going on and the killings probably don’t have anything to do with you.’

‘Wrong place, wrong time,’ Clara murmurs.

* * *

‘Zhang!’ Jorgey snaps, slamming her hand on the desk. ‘The robbery. The fight. Randolph Simpson. Mahatma Goudier . . . you were in the Fleet Finance offices before Randolph’s body was found. You were first on the scene for the fight on Level 30. You were first on the scene for the discovery of Mahatma. You are buried deep in this, and that report? That report needs to be deleted and you need to start telling me exactly what happened. Does it have any connection to your other work?’

Zhang clears his throat and takes another sip of coffee.

‘How did Helga Sveinsson know your name? She came to me on Level 25 when it was all kicking off and she knew who you were. Do you work for Helga?’

He stays silent, giving nothing away and she blasts air with a frustrated urge to box his damn ears.

‘Okay. You won’t say. I get it. Tell me why were you in the Finance offices before the robbery? And how did you know to check on Mahatma Goudier?’

‘I told you. I had a tip off.’

‘What tip off?’

‘I won’t reveal the source.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ. Then what?’

‘It’s in the report. I went to the Finance offices and spoke briefly to Randolph Simpson.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘I asked him routine questions.’

‘Specify.’

‘Routine questions. Had he seen anything suspicious. He said it was all fine.’

‘You’re lying, Zhang.’

‘Then I went back down and started searching the area, which is when the robbery must have taken place.’

‘You’re lying, Zhang.’

‘I found the fight in progress and gave assistance until Councillor Shariff arrived.’

‘You’re lying, Zhang! I could go into the Elfors right now and ask Robby the Blind if he killed Polski the Sad and I’d get a more honest answer.’

‘Then, after seeing Abdul had the situation in hand, I re-commenced my search for the fugitives.’

‘They ran down the stairs! It’s on the footage Kristi Carter filmed. We can see you coming up after they disappeared!’

‘At which point I decided to check on Mahatma. Which is when I found her body.’

‘Why? Why check on Mahatma?’

Silence.

‘Why did you check on Mahatma?’

‘I told you,’ he replies, avoiding her eye contact. ‘I was in a sexual relationship with her.’

‘And?’

Silence.

‘Did Mahatma know about the robbery? Was she your source? Was it your sex addiction? Did you need to fuck so badly that right in the middle of all that you ran off to get your dick wet?’

Silence.

‘Okay, I’m sorry, that was out of order,’ Jorgey says, sitting back and trying to think of how to make him respond. ‘Zhang, Sergeant Hopkins told me he was contacted by Helga ordering him into the Elfors to arrest Dmitri.’

Zhang looks up with a single eyebrow raised.

‘And Sergeant Hopkins, being the dumb shit that he is, tried to follow the orders and got every police officer on duty massed on the Level 37 guard station ready to, and I quote, storm Neon City . . .’

‘Jesus,’ Zhang says, wincing at the idea of it.

‘And because of that we’ve had to seal all the stairwells off. There’s a hard border in place with Elforists gathering by the main stairwell ready to kick off. Can you see this yet, Zhang? Can you see how deep your hole is getting? This isn’t just about you fucking a witness or a victim. The whole ship is reeling from this clusterfuck. Now you tell me this,’ she says quietly, leaning over the desk. ‘Why did Helga order my officers into Neon City to arrest Dmitri?’

Zhang stays still. Unmoving and unflinching while the expectation for him to reply grows stronger. A battle of wills plays out until he finally breaks the eye contact and looks away. ‘Ask Helga.’

‘I did. She denied giving the order. She stated Sergeant Hopkins misheard her, and Hopkins has already changed his statement to say he can’t remember exactly what Helga told him. But the point is, Helga told him to go after Dmitri and you knew this robbery was going to happen. Where’s the connection?’ She leans in and lowers her voice. ‘This is just me and you now, Zhang. Nothing is being recorded. Are you working for Helga?’

Something in the air and for a second Jorgey swears she can feel Zhang’s energy change as though he’s about to start talking. Then he sips from his coffee and stares past her. ‘Everything is in my report.’

‘Zhang. They’ll bury you for this. Tell me the truth.’

* * *

‘But something is in those bonds you took,’ Abdul continues in the hotel room on the Beijing. ‘Something that people want back, and they are already killing for it. Yasmine, look at me. I said, look at me.’ He pauses while she slowly turns to face him. ‘If you try and cash those bonds, even to a black-market dealer, you will leave a trail and they will find you and they will kill all of you. You cannot cash them . . .’

The air charges again. People have died. People have been murdered – but murder and death are daily events in the Elfors. Whatever Yassy took was her big score and telling her not to cash them goes against every instinct a hustler has because all credits are good credits. No questions asked.

Yasmine’s eyes flick to the door while she thinks fast. She’ll get out of here with Sam, cash the bonds, then get on a shuttle to the Vladivostok, then another to the Mumbai. That’s nearly as big as the Beijing. She’ll keep going – double back a few times too and muddy the trail. Every ship has a section like the Elfors. Somewhere to buy new names and new wristbands. The Hutongs or the Bustees. She’s a hustler. She can survive on her wits, and so she shrugs and looks away, every instinct telling her to stay quiet until they can get the hell out of here. ‘Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘We’ve gone past that, Yassy,’ Penny says.

‘Cool. Anything else I can help you with today?’

Abdul tuts and blasts air from his nose with a show of frustration. ‘You need to listen.’

‘I don’t need to do anything.’

‘I just said you can’t cash those bonds, Yasmine.’

‘And I said I don’t know what you’re talking about, Abdul.’

‘Jesus, Yassy,’ Penny groans, rubbing her face.

‘You told me last night!’ Abdul shouts. ‘You knocked over the Fleet Finance offices and needed to get away.’

‘Er, no? You offered me and Sam a job and then Clara and Penny broke into our hotel room when I was about to have sex with my boyfriend.’

‘I don’t need to hear that!’ Abdul shouts.

‘Then end the call and fuck off.’

‘That’s enough,’ Penny shouts, adding to the rising clamour. ‘It went fucking ballistic after you left the Humility last night. The police were about to storm Neon City to arrest Dmitri, which got everyone whipped up, then Helga or someone ordered a hard border. The Elfors are sealed off, Yassy. This is serious. Randolph is dead. Mahatma is dead. Colin got called to that murder scene because Jorgey Raynor ran out of police officers! That’s how bad it got.’

Clara cuts in, leaning into the conversation. ‘Honey, that’s why we’re here. Colin saw Mahatma worked at the Finance offices. She was a loose end.’

‘Yassy,’ Colin says, leaning into Abdul’s holo call. ‘Someone is tidying those loose ends up. If I worked it out then someone else will.’

‘You getting this, sugar?’ Clara asks, staring at Yasmine. ‘That means you and Pretty Boy are loose ends too.’

‘Which is why Abdul just spent a fortune hiring a private shuttle for me and Clara to get here to make sure you’re okay,’ Penny adds.

‘And we’re fine. So you can go back . . .’ Yasmine retorts, too flushed and angry to hold her tongue as the whole lot of them start bickering and yelling at once.

Sam watches it all quietly, figuring maybe they all need to vent for a bit. Then he spots the wristband on the table – the one Yasmine used to put the stolen crypto on – and quietly opens his hacking screen. He accesses the wristband easily, sliding in and delving through the system, busting through flimsy firewalls and the weak protection. He glances up to see everyone else still busy and thinks about what Abdul said about the crypto being tracked if it’s cashed.

That, however, is only if the bond is opened by someone who doesn’t have a protected hacking system that routes the digital signature through over a thousand ports and bounces it all over the fleet. Which is the system Sam is using right now. He accesses the folder and clicks to open it. Two codes inside. He frowns, thinking Yasmine was only meant to steal one line. But then it’s Yasmine. Of course she would steal two if she could. He shrugs and opens the first one, instantly seeing the format is recognisably cryptocurrency with lines of code filling the page. Is that what they want back? Maybe it’s Fleet government credits or the earnings of some criminals.

‘Y’all need to calm down,’ Clara calls out as Sam opens the second code and instantly determines it’s not crypto. He scrolls back to the top, thinking it looks familiar but not sure how or why. The format, maybe? He frowns and pokes the tip of his tongue out, cocking his head over and trying to figure out where he’s seen code written like that before.

‘Go fuck a goat!’ Yasmine yells, which makes Sam think back to when she said that at Sven’s café. Which in turn makes him think of the adverts he made for Sven, which then takes his mind back to changing the adverts in the retail zone when he first met Yasmine so she could get free clothes and shoes. Then he remembers the little boy looking bored while his mother was chatting and how he made an image of the shuttle Gagarin filled with aliens to entertain the kid and those thoughts all swim through his mind as quick as anything and his eyes light up with recognition. ‘Ha! Got it. It’s an input code.’

‘What did you just say?’ Abdul asks.

‘Fuck a goat!’ Yasmine shouts.

‘Not you! Sam, what did you say?’ Abdul asks, as everyone spins about to see Sam sitting behind several virtual screens.

‘Tell me you didn’t open it,’ Yasmine says.

‘I didn’t open it,’ Sam says, looking back at his screens.

‘Sam!’

‘It’s fine. My system’s protected.’

‘What did you say it was?’ Abdul asks.

‘I said it’s an input code for the navigational mainframe.’

‘How do you know that?’ Abdul asks.

‘I recognise the format. See these at the top? They’re access codes that tell each vessel in the fleet to let the mainframe override, so it can control the propulsion and direction and a million other things. We’re constantly changing course and moving about to avoid meteors and debris, and every ship is fitted with long-range sensors, plus we send probes out all the time to make sure there’s nothing nasty coming our way. And every time those probes come back, they generate new codes for the mainframe, and the originating source is always recorded in the code . . . hang on. Er . . . oh wow, this one is from the Gagarin. That’s pretty cool. It must have found something when it went out.’

He looks up and completely misses the sudden change in energy in the room. ‘So, yeah, it’ll be the crypto bond they want back. I mean, why would anyone get killed for an input code?’

Something clicks in the back of Yasmine’s head. ‘Alexei Scrabel,’ she whispers, looking at Penny. ‘Sven. We read about it at the café, remember? The guy who fell down a stairwell. I bet he nicked that code! That’s why Zhang’s been running about like mad and asking if anyone’s heard anything.’

‘Okay, okay. I see where this is going,’ Abdul says, nodding for a second. ‘No, I’m not seeing where this is going.’

* * *

‘Zhang, help me see where this is going,’ Jorgey whispers, seeing a man about ready to break. A man she respects and admires. ‘When you came over from the Beijing, we all figured you for another connected idiot trying to work his way up, but you’re a good cop, Zhang. You’re the only one who can walk into Neon City untouched – that’s how much people respect you. I respect you, and I will protect you, but you have to be honest.’

A rush of guilt inside. He’s not decent or honourable. He’s a freak sex addict who took money from Helga to do her dirty work. He killed Alexei Scrabel. He threatened Matty. He threatened Randolph too. So no, he is not a good cop. He lied on his report and he’s lying now.

I do believe I am rather falling for you, Mr Woo.

‘Okay, Zhang. I need to tell you something else,’ Jorgey says, finally making him look up. ‘The investigation has revealed that Mahatma was in a sexual relationship with Randolph. Did you know that?’

He doesn’t respond, but slowly closes his eyes.

‘One of the options we’re looking at is that Mahatma was blackmailing Randolph,’ Jorgey says, studying him closely for reaction but seeing none. ‘It could be possible that Mahatma was the one who arranged the robbery, and she was then murdered to stop her identifying anyone.’

Silence.

‘Are we right? Are we wrong?’

Silence.

‘Are you refusing to co-operate with my investigation, detective?’ Jorgey asks, finally using her authority to force him into a corner. ‘You know you have to co-operate with me, Zhang.’

‘I’ve made my report.’

‘That report will see you serving time on the Ark, and you do not want to be a cop in prison.’

Zhang stays silent because he’ll be dead within a day.

One last try. One last roll of the die. Jorgey exhales slowly, drumming her fingers on the desk. ‘And your family?’ That touches a nerve: his dark eyes flick up to lock on hers. ‘How will they react?’

‘Due process states that if you suspect me of a crime then you must arrest and caution me, at which point I am entitled to a lawyer. Am I being arrested?’

She pulls back, shaking her head in resignation. ‘No, Zhang. Not yet anyway. But you are suspended pending a full investigation. The police accreditation will be stripped from your interface and your sidearm is being seized. Zhang? Look at me.’ She tries one last time, feeling in her gut that there is more to this. ‘Whatever is going on, you can trust me, you know that.’

‘Am I free to go?’

‘Yes, Mr Woo, you are free to go . . .’

* * *

‘Explain it to me,’ Abdul says, as everyone in the room faces Yasmine.

‘The Gagarin comes back right,’ Yasmine says. ‘Sam said it goes out ahead of the fleet and looks for anything in our way and every time it comes back it generates new codes. Like navigation codes. So, it found something and made a code. Alexei Scrabel stole it, probably to sell it or blackmail someone. Then he hid it in the Fleet finance offices and legged it into the Elfors where he died. Then we come along and steal the same code. Wow. What the hell are the chances of that?’

‘I know, right,’ Penny says.

‘Damn,’ Clara says.

‘That’s why Dmitri was screaming about giving the code back,’ Yasmine says. ‘Someone’s obviously paid him to try and find it. That’s why Randolph got killed. Dmitri must have gone in after I left. Did the news say how he died?’

‘Broken neck,’ Clara says.

‘Guphy,’ Yasmine says as Clara nods. ‘But why was Mahatma killed? Did she know about this code thing?’

‘We don’t know,’ Penny says. ‘We heard she was blackmailing Randolph but . . .’

‘Matty was sleeping with him,’ Janey says. ‘Everyone knows that.’

‘Jesus,’ Yasmine says. ‘Matty was blackmailing Randolph and somehow Dmitri gets involved and only an absolute moron would ever bring Dmitri into anything.’

‘You mean your ex-boyfriend,’ Sam says.

‘Wow. Did you really need to say that?’ Yasmine asks.

‘Sam,’ Penny says, giving him a look.

‘What? He is her ex-boyfriend.’

‘Pretty Boy, not everything needs to be spoken about,’ Clara says gently. ‘Anyways, what happened to you two? Why you all stinking of gas guns?’

‘It’s nothing,’ Yasmine says, still smarting at what Sam said while also trying to think about everything at once. ‘Some local idiots tried to roll us over when we got off the shuttle. Forget it . . . but shit, what a mess with all that. I mean the code and those people. Must be something big though.’

‘What’s big?’ Sam asks.

‘All of this. It must be for something big. I mean that code – you wouldn’t kill two people and call Dmitri in to help unless it was something huge. Jesus. It would have to be a new planet for that to happen . . .’

A change in energy that Sam misses completely, but Yasmine feels instantly. ‘You are joking, right?’ she asks, turning to look at Penny.

‘No way,’ Sven says.

‘What?’ Janey asks. ‘I don’t get it. What’s going on?’

‘Zhang blurted something out,’ Penny says. ‘He chased you and Sam to the dock after you’d gone.’ Penny falters, looking to Abdul then back to Yasmine. ‘He said they’ve found a planet. But he was delirious, and he denied it after . . .’

‘Fuck me,’ Yasmine whispers.

‘A new planet?’ Sven asks as Janey just stares on.

‘Really?’ Sam asks, his face etched with shock. ‘It found a planet?’

He doesn’t wait for the reply but turns back to his screens to read the code, leaning in close, his heart beating like the clappers as Yasmine reels back, shifting gear in her head. Seeing the dangers for what they are and realising there’s no limit to what they’ll do for this.

‘I’ll give it back,’ she says quickly, turning to Abdul.

‘It’s too late,’ Abdul says.

‘I took two lines of crypto. I swear it. I didn’t know anything about a code.’

‘Yasmine,’ Abdul says again, trying to cut in.

‘I said I’ll give it back!’

‘Honey,’ Clara says. ‘You take it back and they’ll kill you anyways.’

‘I had a fight in the offices . . . my blood and DNA are all over the place. They’ll know anyway.’

‘We took care of that, Yassy,’ Clara says.

‘How?’ Yasmine asks. ‘I need details. How!’

‘We got into the Finance offices before anyone else,’ Abdul says. ‘Soon as we heard the body had been found we ran in and set the sprinklers off.’

‘That’s suspicious as anything!’ Yasmine says.

‘The police were busy. They think we were helping,’ Abdul says. ‘Colin was a cop. It’s fine. We said the murderers set the fire system off.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Sven says. ‘They’ll trace it back to all of us. You need to get Janey out of here.’

‘Okay, slow down,’ Penny says. ‘Only we know about this.’

‘Zhang knows,’ Yasmine says.

‘It was Zhang that said you can’t cash it,’ Penny says. ‘We don’t know what’s going on, but Zhang warned us . . . so, this is contained. You just . . . you just need to give time for Abdul to work it out,’ she adds, as Yasmine spots Sam leaning into his screens.

‘Sam, shut it down! We need to airlock that wristband. It’s too hot.’

Sam doesn’t shut it down. He tries to read the code as Yasmine leans across him and hits his emergency kill switch while grabbing the wristband from the table. ‘This is dangerous. It will get you killed. We don’t open it or ask questions about it. Got it?’

‘Okay,’ he murmurs.

‘Good.’

‘Is it really a new planet?’ he asks, looking past her.

‘Sam!’

‘We don’t know,’ Penny says.

‘Don’t tell him anything,’ Yasmine snaps, turning to glare at Penny.

‘I had your psychotic ex-boyfriend trying to kill me for it, so I think I’ve got the right to know,’ Sam says.

‘And you really need to stop saying Dmitri’s her ex,’ Penny snaps.

‘People are dead, Sam.’ Yasmine says. ‘And I will do what it takes to keep you alive.’

‘He ain’t a child, Yassy,’ Clara says.

‘He’s not from the Elfors, Clara. He’s not like us.’

‘What does that mean?’ Sam asks.

‘He’s still a man, Yassy,’ Clara says.

‘I’m not like Dmitri. Is that what you mean?’

‘Sam!’ Penny says with clear warning in her voice. ‘Okay, I think we need to calm down and let Abdul figure this out.’

‘Why should Abdul figure it out? No!’ Yasmine snaps as the others try to cut in. ‘Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I can keep us alive better than any of you. Sam, we need to go.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘If they send Dmitri . . .’

‘How the hell is an unregistered gangster from the Elfors going to get on a shuttle?’ Sam asks.

‘The same way I just did!’ Yasmine fires back. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? This is dangerous. Being here is dangerous.’

‘If you run, they will find you,’ Abdul says. ‘We do nothing, we carry on with our normal lives . . .’

‘Normal lives? It’s a new planet!’ Sam says. ‘We can’t just do nothing.’

‘Where is it?’ Abdul asks, with a flash of dark temper that brings them all to silence. ‘How long will it take us to reach it? Is it habitable? It might be years away. It must be because our own sensors aren’t picking it up, and do you have any idea what will happen if people even get hint of a new planet? Every ship will override the mainframe and revert to singular navigation to reach it first. Alliances will form. Wars will start. You idiots have stolen something from people who can kill with impunity, because if anyone is ever caught all they have to do is announce there’s a new planet and nobody will care. Not even if we’re all thrown from an airlock live on FleetNewsCast. Do you understand me? Look at me! All of you. I need to see you understand me. Do nothing until I’ve figured this out. I need time to fix it.’

‘How the hell are you going to fix this?’ Yasmine says.

‘Yassy, please,’ Penny says, as Yasmine finally falls silent. As they all fall silent. Tempers flaring and emotions running too high. All of them exhausted and drained.

‘Get some rest. We’ll talk later,’ Abdul says, cutting his feed without another word, his face still dark and angry.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Penny says to Sven and Janey. ‘The police will come and ask questions, but just stick to what we said.’

Sven nods and cuts the feed, plunging the room into a strained silence broken only by the noises filtering in from outside. The noises of people living lives as normal as ever.

A hotel room on the Beijing. Two sleeping tubes. One couch. Four people. The magical night finally comes to an end.

5

Saturday

The Humility

A circus of press greets Zhang outside the police HQ. A couple of uniformed officers push the reporters back; journalists from every news channel in the fleet now present.

‘Detective Woo!’ one of them calls out. ‘What was it like finding the body of Mahatma Goudier?’

‘How will the killers be tracked down in the Elfors, Detective?’

Questions launch at him as he tries to rush on, his body hurting. His mind fracturing.

‘Detective.’ A man gets in front of him, blocking his path as he tries to veer around. ‘What was the scene like when you found Mahatma Goudier? Was she mutilated? Was she hacked apart? Was she raped? Was she raped before or after she was murdered?’

Zhang stops walking as he visualises ramming his fist into the reporter’s face. A hand on his arm. A body pressing into his side. ‘Come on, guys, bit of respect here?’ Kristi Carter speaks out, waving them away as the reporters grumble and moan but slowly back off. ‘The guy’s a hero, cut him some slack . . .’ She loops an arm in his. ‘Damn vultures make us all look bad. How are you holding up, Detective? You okay? You look like shit. Have you seen a doc?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says, walking on.

‘Do the police have doctors you can use? I’ve got one. I can call him up and get you seen if it helps.’

‘I said I’m fine. Thank you.’ He tries to pull his arm free, but she rushes on at his side.

‘Let me walk down with you. Where you heading? Back to one of the scenes?’

‘Home.’

‘Sure. You must be exhausted. This is your downtime, right? Even cops have to sleep.’

‘Miss Carter—’

‘Call me Kristi.’ She offers a smile. ‘Do you mind me calling you Zhang? You know, after last night and seeing you in action I feel like I know you. Does that make sense? I heard cops get that a lot – when they share experiences of danger together it creates a bond.’

He stares at her for a second before walking on again.

Kristi thinks maybe she got the approach wrong. She figured a man like Zhang would respond to flattery, especially coming from her and especially after what she’d heard about him. But then he does look strung out, and he’s hurt too. Bruised and cut, and the pain in his eyes is evident.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m exhausted too. I haven’t slept at all and that fight last night was something else.’

He stays silent as they reach the stairwell and start heading down.

‘How do you know Abdul? That’s not a reporter question. I just figured you know each other because you were at the party last night. At Sven’s Eatery – say, now I think about it, Mahatma Goudier was also there. Did you know her?’

Again, he stays silent, turning the corners on each landing as they drop lower.

‘You know it’s funny, but I can’t ask a question these days without it sounding like an interview.’

‘Then don’t ask questions.’

‘Yeah, I know, it sounds like that, right? They said you don’t talk much.’

He doesn’t ask who said that, even when she leaves the comment hanging in the air.

‘But listen, if you knew Mahatma, that must have been hard. You know? Finding her like that. What level are you?’

‘This one,’ he says, walking off the landing.

‘Nice,’ she says, looking at the rows of symmetrical cabins stretching off into the distance. ‘We’re not that far from Mahatma’s level.’

He stops walking, closing his eyes again. Feeling jaded, broken, ruined and filthy. He stinks too. Everything stinks and Kristi is right. They aren’t that far from Mahatma’s cabin. Just another level up. The image comes back again. Her mutilated body and her untouched face that almost looked serene and peaceful in death.

‘Jesus, Zhang,’ Kristi says as he starts to sway. ‘Come on, let me help.’

He feels dizzy and just wrong. Sick even, and he doesn’t say anything when she pushes in at his side and helps him through the door. She figured his cabin would be messy, or cluttered. But it’s not. It’s neat and tidy and hardly looks lived in. She gets him to the sofa, easing him down. ‘Where are your meds?’

He nods and lifts a hand, pointing to a box on the floor. She lifts the lid and reaches down to take the small bottle out. The liquid inside glows bright yellow.

‘Why have you even got Elfor Juice? It’s illegal.’

He looks at her. She grows still and offers a faint smile. ‘Okay, no questions.’

He twists the lid and takes a big glug, gasping as it slides down his throat and into his stomach. A second later and the spreading warmth starts. The tingle reaches into his limbs, pushing the pain back, and when he opens his eyes he realises she’s sitting next to him on the sofa, perched on the edge, her startling blue eyes fixed on his face. He holds the bottle out. She shakes her head, then thinks on it and takes a hit. Not a big one, but enough to make her gasp. More to show she’s on his side. To be a part of whatever he’s going through. To get into his world, but also because Elfor Juice is fucking incredible and she hasn’t slept all night and the adrenalin is still pumping.

A few seconds and she feels the spread of warmth and looks slowly around his cabin. ‘Did you know her?’ she asks. He nods when she looks at him, seeing that awful pain etched on his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers, trying to imagine what it must be like to find someone you know killed in such a bad way, and that’s followed by a rush of guilt that she was pestering him and asking questions. She turns towards him, smiling sadly. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

He shakes his head. He’ll be dead before long and there’s nothing he needs. Helga’s people will kill him. Then they will track Yasmine down and kill her too.

‘Did you love her?’

He blinks at Kristi and the question she just asked. Her face a little flushed from the juice. Still he doesn’t answer. Did he love Matty? No. No, he didn’t. If anything, he had no regard for her at all, and that somehow makes it worse.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, wincing as he looks at her. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry.’

He frowns, thinking he’s not crying, but she gently reaches over to slide her thumbs over his cheeks. They come away wet. He blinks hard, gritting his jaw. Not liking the rush of emotions inside.

She soothes him, even though he never said anything. A look of worry on her face. Her blue eyes so deep and fixed on his. Her blonde hair hanging down around her shoulders. Her skin so flawless. Her lips so full.

‘Oh god, no . . . please.’ He clamps his eyes shut as the addiction surges up inside.

‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘You need to go,’ he whispers, hating himself with every ounce of his being.

She sighs deeply, thinking he’s breaking down. ‘Come here.’ She reaches out, pulling him into an embrace, soothing his hair, rubbing his neck. ‘You’ll be okay,’ she whispers softly, feeling the rush from the Elfor Juice. Suddenly tired from last night too; she remembers the fight and how much punishment Zhang took before he got back up and started fighting back. She remembers something else. She remembers what she heard when she asked around. He’s a sex addict. That’s why she went after him outside the police HQ. That’s why she smiled the way she did and pushed in close at his side. She also remembered how hot he was. She saw him last night at the party and thought the same then. There’s something about him, even now when he’s hurt and broken. Maybe that’s making it worse? Like he’s vulnerable or something – and suddenly the thought of taking advantage of him when he’s so vulnerable seems very wrong. Predatory even.

‘Listen, why don’t you get some sleep?’ she says, pulling back.

He lifts his head to look at her, his dark eyes slowly finding hers. Strands of hair falling over his forehead.

‘I should go,’ she whispers. He doesn’t reply, and that just makes it worse. She goes to speak, maybe to say he should rest, or that she’ll see herself out. But instead she moves in to press her mouth to his. He responds instantly. Detesting himself with every atom in his body. Even with images of Mahatma Goudier’s body flashing through his mind, he still cannot stop it from happening.

Seconds later and his mouth fills with her breast as she rides on top of him. Her blouse undone. His trousers tugged down. Her skirt pulled up. It’s fast, too. Frantic and desperate. He wraps his arms around her waist and flips her over onto her back, driving in between her legs. She orgasms quickly from the Elfor Juice and the sheer wrongfulness of it. He fucks her faster. Screwing his eyes closed. Thinking of Mahatma. Thinking of murder and death and voltage sticks. He goes faster still, thrusting inside as she gasps and draws nails down his chest, the veins in her neck bulging as she orgasms again, shuddering with spasms that make her body twitch and jerk, but still he keeps going with a desperate, all-consuming hunger driven by pain and loss and an addiction he cannot control. He starts building up, with every muscle in his upper body standing proud. His shoulders and arms rock-hard.

‘Oh my fucking god!’ she cries out, feeling the power of him driving so deep it takes them off the sofa onto the floor. Both of them shuddering and locking out. Kissing hard. Needing this contact more than anything they have ever needed before.

But, as all things must, this too soon ends and the ecstasy subsides and once more his broken, ruined, tainted life comes back into his mind and he sinks down, feeling her arms holding him tight as the famous Kristi Carter kisses him as though her very life depends on it, and in the sweat and heat, in the post-coital glow, she doesn’t feel the tears spilling over her shoulders.

6

Saturday

The Humility

Abdul stares out of the window in his office at the lights of Neon City stretching off into the distance. The day nearly over and this is the first time he’s had to put his feet on his desk and sip whisky while finding order to his thoughts.

He looks out at the main walkway, filling with clientele strolling through, while men and women offer their bodies because all credits are good credits with no questions asked.

On the surface it looks normal, but there’s a vibe. Like an unspoken energy that Abdul can sense from a lifetime spent in the Elfors. The flash rumour of the police storming Neon City and the murders and robbery have sent waves of energy through the place. The three other stairwells into the Elfors are shut too, leaving only the main one open, and only having one way in and out always puts the Elfors on edge. There are already crowds hanging about the guard station and platform, looking ill at ease and sullen.

Not only that but Abdul also has the code for a new planet. Who is behind it? Can they make another one? Do they need that specific code back? Who ordered the killings? Who brought Dmitri in? Abdul can’t ask Dmitri because then Dmitri would know Abdul is involved. No. This has to be handled right.

He just needs to know who is behind it all and who wants it back. That’s the score right there. That’s the deal to be made.

* * *

It’s been a busy Saturday for Vice-Captain Helga Sveinsson too – a day spent using voice changers to pass information to the press.

Mahatma was sleeping with Randolph.

Mahatma was blackmailing Randolph.

Mahatma was behind the robbery.

She was killed by the gangsters she’d brought in, to stop her identifying them.

She did all of that not only to cover her tracks, but because chaos creates confusion, and confusion and chaos create opportunity. And right now, Helga needs all the opportunity she can get, as she stands at her digital window staring out over the front of the ship that appears motionless. A static object in the big void without the slightest hint of the vast speed it’s travelling at.

Dmitri hasn’t been in contact and is not answering her calls. Neither is Zhang, and on top of that Pierre put his hands on her neck and threatened her life in front of his guards.

That is deeply worrying: threatening her life was a much greater show of power than she’s seen before. She wonders where that escalation came from. Pierre even whispered that there are greater forces at work.

Without doubt, there are a great many things happening, but the absolute priority is finding out who has the code, because it cannot be replicated.

In a fleet managed by AI systems so advanced that very few people actually understand them, they have a single code, which was generated by a secret program that then deleted itself and which was not copied and cannot be duplicated, so the only way to get that data back is to send the Gagarin out to do it again, by which point Helga will be dead. Murdered for her failure. Another shuttle crash. An airlock accident. A terrible tragedy.

‘Ma’am, Chief Raynor is here to see you,’ an aide calls through via her interface, breaking her thoughts.

‘Show her in,’ Helga says, turning from the window. ‘Chief Raynor. Come in. Please, sit down. Coffee? You must be exhausted.’

‘Running on fumes,’ Jorgey says as she takes a seat in front of Helga’s desk, her hair tied back and her blue uniform shirt edged with gold piping crisp and clean. She waits as Helga pours coffee and hands her a cup.

‘How are you doing, Jorgey?’

‘I’d be better if we didn’t have so many damn leaks. I’m amazed our ship is still going with all these holes in it.’

‘Let me tell you, when I find out who it is, they will be dealt with very strongly,’ Helga says with a flash of irritation. ‘As if we don’t have enough to deal with – although one of the reporters did let slip that one of the leaks came from your offices. Anyway. I need an update before the Councillors’ meeting. Fire away. Tell me how bad it all is.’

‘Well,’ Jorgey says, taking a second to think after a very long night and an even longer day. ‘What we do know is that Mahatma was sleeping with and blackmailing Randolph Simpson, but we don’t know why.’

‘To rob the Finance offices, surely.’

‘There’s no evidence of that, ma’am. And, as you know, the laws state we cannot access either of the deceased’s wristbands to retrieve data. We’ve asked FleetBook and the messenger services but . . .’ She trails off with a shrug. ‘Unless someone of influence was to reach out and ask for a back-door entry . . .’

‘Jorgey, even I can’t overrule those laws,’ Helga says, before leaning in to speak quietly. ‘Wristbands can be hacked.’

‘Oh, wristbands are easy. But the wristband only gives access to the service from the social networks. They’re the data holders.’

Helga nods sadly as though to show she’s on Jorgey’s side.

‘Moving on,’ Jorgey says, ‘the sprinkler system destroyed any forensic evidence in the Finance offices. We don’t know what was taken, if anything. We’ve ordered an audit, but we’ve got more data laws and hoops to jump through. Then we’ve got the second murder scene . . . and, again, no forensic evidence pointing to a suspect.’

‘None at all?’ Helga asks, genuinely shocked.

‘Oh, we’ve got DNA all over it. Randolph Simpson’s semen, sweat and saliva is on just about every surface, along with fluids from one of my detectives, but nothing that links to anyone else in our systems,’ Jorgey says, making a show of pausing to sip coffee while watching Helga closely.

‘Would this detective be Zhang Woo by any chance?’ Helga asks.

‘And how would you know that?’ Jorgey asks, locking eyes over the desk.

‘I heard rumours, and Zhang found the body. It stands to reason he was connected to her. How else would he know to go there? And you told me he was in shock when he found her body.’

‘Does Zhang work for you?’

‘Yes,’ Helga replies, not knowing she was going to say it until it spilled from her mouth. ‘Yes, he does. Zhang Woo is a sanctioned agent working for me on matters of fleet security . . .’

‘The Ark handles cross-border and federal matters, ma’am.’

‘And every ship has her own methods to stop things escalating to that level, Chief. You know that.’

‘How many more of my officers do you have on your payroll?’

‘Jorgey, I like you, but speak to me like that again and our friendship will be tested.’

‘Forgive me. I’ll rephrase the question. How many more of my officers are on your payroll, ma’am?’

‘Enough, Jorgey.’

‘Zhang is my detective!’

‘Zhang is still your detective.’

‘He won’t tell me what’s going on! Do you know how bad this looks on him? His DNA is all over Mahatma’s cabin. He was in the Finance offices before they were robbed. He was the last known person to speak to Randolph. He will go down for this.’

‘For what?’

‘Withholding evidence. Perjury. Perverting the course of justice. Misconduct in a public office. Any one of those will put him in prison . . .’

‘Then we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

Jorgey stares over the desk, hardly believing it. ‘You want me to cover this up?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck me,’ Jorgey whispers, stunned at the openness. ‘Why? Oh, hang on, please tell me he isn’t being protected because of his family.’

‘This has no connection to anyone. Zhang works exclusively for me, and quite frankly he’s damn good at what he does.’

‘Then please tell me how the hell we explain his DNA inside Mahatma Goudier?’

‘Mahatma Goudier was an extremely attractive young woman. Zhang is a very handsome man. That is explanation enough. On top of that he has a serious disorder of sexual compulsion.’

‘Then you need to come out and say that.’

‘I just did,’ Helga replies, staring over the desk. ‘Yes, he came into contact with Mahatma. Yes, he slept with her. But that is where it ends. He is not involved in the murders or the robbery and he will not be mentioned.’

‘Helga, I can’t . . .’

‘You can, and you will. Bury it, Jorgey. There is something much bigger at play here.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘There is something much bigger at play here,’ Helga says, rising from her chair and tugging her jacket straight to gain composure. ‘I have a meeting, Chief. Thank you for the update.’

Jorgey closes her eyes as that bite of frustration gnaws away inside. At being told half a story. ‘I’m not losing my career in a cover-up,’ she says as she crosses the room, then stops as Helga’s hand gently rests on her arm. A look in her soft blue eyes. A flash of fear, maybe. A flash of something.

‘Jorgey, if I need you, will you be there?’

‘Helga . . .’

‘Please. If I need you, will you be there?’

Jorgey sighs, her frustration showing clear. ‘If it’s legal then yes, of course. Is it legal, Helga?’

Helga pauses, holding silent for a second. ‘There’s no precedent for this, Jorgey. But I need Zhang and I need for you to trust me. Anyway. I have this damned meeting, so unless you wish to sit in a room with a few dozen angry Councillors . . .’

Jorgey heads out of the offices with the feeling that she just took one step forward and five back. The door closes behind her, and Helga turns away, puffing out a blast of air as she realises she just winged nearly all of that conversation. Or did she? Maybe there was a spark of genuine fear there, too. Maybe she does need to start forming some alliances of her own, and Jorgey Raynor is a powerful authority on this ship.

There’s also that tingle again. That funny feeling at the bottom of her belly. A rush, even. A warmth – and as bad as this all is, it’s still not wholly unpleasant.

‘Ma’am, the meeting is starting,’ the aide calls through.

A packed room greets her when she walks in. Pierre already at his seat and she slips in next to him. An excited babble in the air. She looks about at the old men filling the seats in the world that Pierre created in his own image. Men with entitlement. A toxic masculinity that the old Earth tried so hard to vanquish.

Maybe that’s why Helga felt a subconscious need to suddenly reach out to Jorgey that way.

She looks at Pierre, remembering when she used to bend over so he could fuck her. It wasn’t rape. She consented. She did so willingly too, to get what she wanted. And Pierre was different back then. He had power and magnetism. She knows too that it was never about the enjoyment of sex for him. It was about the conquest.

Maybe that’s why he’s so bitter now. She’s more popular than him. Younger. More attractive. She’s gaining power. His is sliding away. But there’s still plenty of bite left in the old dog. Maybe more than she can handle.

The door opens and Abdul walks in. The last to arrive, and because of that Helga notices the difference – perhaps now more than ever. The way he walks with his head up. Scanning the room. Shoulders squared. His arms loose at his sides as though he’s ready to fight. But that’s what he is: a brawler. A fighter. A hustler. A self-made man, full of real power and masculinity. Broad and strong, his bald head gleaming in the light and the bruises on his face showing where he traded blows with dangerous men just a few hours before.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Abdul says, offering a respectful nod to Pierre and Helga.

‘He had to change his shirt on the way up,’ Jean Schreiber, the councillor for Level 12 says to a few laughs. ‘Still had blood on the old one from the drunken brawl last night, eh, Abdul?’

Abdul smiles across the table to show he’s not taking the bait, and Helga watches as some of the men straighten up and puff out their chests. He’s so different to them. She saw it last night, and in the way he handled that crowd in Neon City. Truth be told, Helga was terrified when she stepped out onto that platform to see the lights of Neon City behind a crowd of angry people. But that fear was a good fear. It made her sharpen her reactions, and think on her feet. She liked the way Abdul dealt with them, too. She liked the way he listened to his security team and the way he gave orders.

‘That said,’ Jean announces. ‘I think I’d like to be the first to pay my respects for your heroic actions last night, Abdul. No, no. Credit where credit is due. The man stopped a riot and a robbery in one evening. Damn, eh? How’s that for making the rest of us look bad? If only we all had Abdul’s foresight that such crimes were taking place . . .’

‘If you’ve got something to say then say it,’ Abdul says, staring evenly at Jean.

‘I believe I just did,’ Jean replies, as the smiles fade and the tension starts to spike. ‘But seriously? Abdul just happens to be walking past a riot, with Kristi Carter, next to the stairwell that leads to the Finance offices? How fortunate.’

‘More than fortunate,’ someone else mutters.

Councillor Henry Hendrickson leans in, tapping his fingertips angrily on the table. ‘Twenty-five is my level! That’s a robbery and a murder on my level! They’re your damned Elforists, Abdul. They came up and they went back down as easy as anything. Did anyone stop them? No! And how did they get up top in the first place?’

‘Miss Goudier was on my level,’ Councillor Trudy Marlow cuts in, also glaring at Abdul. ‘My residents are too scared to leave their cabins!’

‘Abdul,’ Councillor Dom Patel calls over as the noise rises. ‘Level 30 saw a twenty-three per cent drop in retail sales today and we’ve had tourists refusing to disembark at the docking port! They wouldn’t get off—’

‘They know they’d get stabbed and robbed,’ someone says, as Helga watches with rapt attention. Like she’s seeing it through new eyes. The way they heckle Abdul while he calmly turns to each in turn, listening to the rants without expression. He turns to another and his eyes fall on Helga, studying him closely with an expression he hasn’t seen before.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Henry Hendrickson cuts in, still jabbing the table. ‘Abdul, I want to know how they got past the damned guards?’

‘Because it’s lawless down there. That’s why,’ Jean says. ‘We should have stormed it when we had the chance.’

‘We don’t have enough police on the whole ship to storm the Elfors!’ someone else says.

‘Why have we even got stairwell guards then?’ Trudy asks. ‘It needs to be sealed off. I mean it! This is beyond a joke, Abdul.’

‘You can’t seal Neon City off,’ Councillor Marty Jones calls, somewhat worried that he won’t be able to get drunk, high and laid without Neon City.

‘No, hang on!’ Henry shouts, rising to his feet to be heard. ‘Abdul. I am asking you to account for why your stairwell guards failed to stop the murderers coming up, and then failed to stop them going back down.’

‘They were bribed, that’s why!’ Jean shouts to an uproar. ‘I heard it from a good source. The guards were bribed to look the other way.’

Another chorus of shouting with more councillors rising to their feet, banging the table and waving their arms in the air.

‘Captain, my apologies,’ Henry calls over the noise. ‘But this is reaching crisis point.’

‘We reached crisis point a long time ago,’ Pierre snaps. ‘And it’s the failure of these representatives to compile a workable solution that has caused it to happen.’

The room falls quiet with heads turning in surprise at the astute reasoning from Pierre Jefferson, as Helga once more wonders where the change is coming from until Trudy clears her throat and speaks. ‘I’m sorry, Captain. But I no longer accept these generalised excuses for the Elfors.’

Murmurs of agreement. Heads nodding.

‘Trudy’s right,’ Henry says. ‘We can’t just say the Elfors have always been a mess so therefore there’s nothing we can do. I mean, does Neon City even need to be where it is?’

Dom Patel speaks out, the councillor for level 30. ‘I’ve been saying this for years. We should put it in the retail zone.’

Abdul finally speaks, because there’s always the chance some sneaky bastard is recording the meeting, and he can’t risk being seen not to oppose the ideas. ‘Neon City is the only source of income for the Elfors. If you take that away the results will be catastrophic. I hear your concerns, but the simple fact is the guards are overwhelmed. There isn’t enough of them to control who passes through, and some of the guards live in the Elfors too—’

‘Well, they shouldn’t,’ Trudy says. ‘They should get proper cabins like everyone else. Shut it down. Shut the whole thing down. No more excuses.’

‘No more excuses,’ Jean says quickly, seizing the phrase. ‘We need positive action to protect our people. And might I remind everyone here that we represent the families and descendants of people who paid for their right to be here – not stowaways.’

It starts up again, with the phrase no more excuses repeated all over the room as Abdul rubs his beard and waits for Pierre to get control – but it doesn’t happen, and he glances over to see Pierre staying quiet. Seemingly content to let the elected officials whip themselves into a frenzy.

The meeting finally ends when Pierre simply walks out and leaves them to it.

Abdul heads out of the door and makes his way through the throngs of animated councillors, most of them sneering and turning away in disdain as he passes.

‘Councillor Shariff,’ an aide calls out. ‘Vice-Captain Sveinsson wondered if you could spare five minutes.’

‘Abdul!’ Helga says, walking out from behind her desk when the aide shows him in a moment later. She takes his outstretched hand in hers and moves in close with a sad tut to peer at the bruises. ‘You poor thing.’

‘It looks worse than it is,’ he replies, taking the inspection with good grace while feeling the tip of her thumb run over the cuts on his hard knuckles.

‘It rather suits you actually,’ she says with a wry smile. ‘Adds to your aura . . . Abdul the Angry.’ She widens her eyes playfully before adopting a mock serious expression. ‘Now, we were rather busy last night, and I didn’t get a chance to say this, but as your vice-captain I must express my dismay at one of my councillors being filmed in a fight. So, with that in mind, consider yourself admonished. But that footage was very hot,’ she adds with a wink as he snorts a laugh. ‘Anyway. Come. Sit with me. Do you have time?’

‘Of course,’ he says, taking a seat as she bends over the low table to pour the coffee, and he can’t help but his flick his eyes over her shape. She turns and catches him. He clears his throat and looks about the room while she smiles that wry grin again and sits down next to him. Which in itself is odd, as she always sits opposite.

‘I wanted to say how well you conducted yourself in that meeting. But do you know what I think? I think Jean Schrieber and his friends are really quite intimidated by you. Oh, shush,’ she says, waving a hand as he goes to speak. ‘You know they are. You’re a self-made man from the Elfors. Wealthy and connected without being entitled . . . and that video from last night. The one with you fighting. None of them would have done that. And then walking out on the platform to address that crowd.’

‘We did that,’ he says gently.

‘Gosh no, I wouldn’t have stood a chance without you. The point is, you’re an alpha male, Abdul, and Jean isn’t.’ She winks again and waggles her little finger, then laughs in delight when he sputters on his coffee. ‘I’m sorry, Abdul. You’ve caught me in a playful mood. It’s been one of those days, I’m afraid. But yes, do be careful. They carry a lot of influence. Are you okay? You didn’t spill coffee on that nice shirt, did you? Take it off if you did and I’ll get you a clean one.’

‘Helga!’

‘Oh, stop it. I’m only flirting. You’re a handsome man, Abdul, and I’m still a woman.’ She holds that soft smile in place while searching his eyes. ‘Why have you never married?’

He frowns at her, trying to read where this is going. ‘Why have you never married?’

She shrugs. ‘I’ve been somewhat busy.’

He shrugs too, not needing to say anything to echo her words.

She tuts again. ‘Okay. Now, what are we to do about all of this? Come on, I need your help. Dmitri the gangster. What do you know about him?’

Abdul mops the coffee from his chin and thinks fast while feeling slightly thrown off by the change in Helga.

‘Does it go against your code?’ she enquires lightly, as he suppresses any show of reaction at her use of the word code. ‘You know. Not being a telltale.’

‘Telltale?’ he asks, giving her a look.

She smiles again. ‘I don’t know the terminology. Snitch! Is that right?’

He nods, still thrown somewhat. ‘I know Dmitri.’

‘Good. Then what are we to do? This is your area of expertise.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Get them out, of course. They’re murderers. They need to be arrested and stand trial.’

Abdul sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his beard. ‘If you send an arrest team into the Elfors they won’t come out alive. And even if they did, you’ll spark the kind of riots that haven’t been seen in years. Just look at last night. They’ll think you’re happy to send authorities in when one of your own has been killed, while people down there are being murdered every week with no action. And Dmitri is popular too. No. Not popular. He’s feared, but that is the same as respect down there . . .’

‘Okay,’ Helga says, listening intently. ‘You know what the next question is.’

He shakes his head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Surely you have greater influence than this Dmitri, and you’ve got a highly trained security team.’

‘Helga . . .’

‘And Abdul, please don’t think I have spies everywhere, although of course I do. But I’m hearing this isn’t the first time you’ve had a fight with Dmitri. There was an incident in the Ritzy Ditzy, wasn’t there?’

He doesn’t reply but sips his coffee, glancing over to see her staring intently at him.

‘Abdul. Imagine the publicity if you were to apprehend and detain this dangerous criminal.’

‘It would ruin my credibility within the Elfors. And there is no way I’d get Dmitri up a stairwell without killing him and most of his crew.’

‘Would that be so bad?’ she asks as he looks at her. ‘Oh, don’t look at me like that. Politics is a dirty game, Abdul, and sometimes the end justifies the means. How about a reward? We offer a reward for the safe capture of Dmitri the gangster and set his own people on him. Would that work?’

‘Snitches die in the Elfors, Helga. Even if someone got to him, they’d never be able to spend the credits they earned.’

‘We’ll offer them registration. How about that? We offer a reward and registration for the capture of Dmitri.’

‘And you will see a massive increase in murders, with people setting each other up to get free registration and rewards.’

She takes her turn to sigh, showing frustration while sounding out just how influential Dmitri really is. She should have done this before she hired him, but there wasn’t time. ‘Well, what can we do?’ she asks, looking back at Abdul.

‘I don’t know,’ he says with raw honesty. ‘Let me think about it.’

She leans in again, placing a hand on his leg. ‘Abdul, I have plenty of people that are good at thinking. I need a man of action who can get things done.’ She lowers her voice and moves her thumb lightly over his thigh. ‘I will deny this conversation if it is ever repeated – but Jean and the other councillors will use this incident as a way of applying pressure to shut the Elfors down, and I’m not sure what answers I can give to stop that. Mahatma Goudier was butchered, and she was a very beautiful woman. That’s capturing people’s imaginations and the fact we can’t apprehend the culprits is going to make this situation a whole lot worse. At the very least this will mean extra guards on the stairwells. And that will stop registered Elfors being able to come up for work, which in turn could spark these riots we’re all so afraid of. This is a pivotal time, and we’ve got elections coming up.’ She pauses to smile again. ‘I like you, Abdul, and I believe you and I can work very closely together. And you know what else? We can have some fun doing it too.’

The flirtation becomes overt as klaxons sound in the back of Abdul’s head. Danger close, but still she is a very attractive woman.

‘Anyway,’ she says brightly, pulling back. ‘I’m booked for an interview, so you have a think and we’ll talk more. But not too long. We’re under pressure.’ She takes his cup with a chuckle. ‘The Ritzy Ditzy. I haven’t been there in years. Has it changed much?’

‘Probably not,’ he says, trying to imagine Helga Sveinsson in Neon City.

‘Well, perhaps I should visit and see it for myself,’ she says, walking him over to the door.

‘My team will be honoured to provide security for you, Helga.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean an official visit. I mean slipping in the back door for a shot of Elfor Juice.’ She laughs again when he blinks. ‘Bless, you are a sweet man, Abdul. I haven’t always been a politician. Right. Well, anyway. Thank you for your time and do think it all through. And I meant what I said too.’ She pauses by the door, holding his eye contact for a second. ‘We need to resolve this Dmitri business quickly.’

‘Thank you, Vice-Captain Sveinsson.’

‘Nice backside too,’ she whispers as the door closes.

‘Elevator’s free now,’ Colin says as Abdul joins his team in the corridor. ‘We going back down?’ Abdul nods, deep in thought, and steps into the elevator. ‘You heard about Zhang?’ Colin asks quietly as the lift starts dropping. ‘He’s been suspended pending an investigation.’

‘Why?’

‘He was in a sexual relationship with the deceased.’

‘Mahatma?’

‘Yep. Heard it from a good source in the department, but they’re suppressing it. Said it has no impact on the investigation.’

‘Is that normal?’ Abdul asks, looking at Colin. An ex-investigations commander from the Ark, and a highly skilled detective.

‘Cops cover up for their mates all the time,’ Colin replies. ‘It shouldn’t happen, but it does. And Zhang’s a sex addict, so maybe they’re thinking it’s more a case of who he hasn’t had sex with.’

Abdul listens quietly, taking it all in. ‘What would you do?’

‘The first question I’d be asking is why he was connected to her in the first place, and if he was one of my detectives I’d be beating him with a rubber pipe until he told me.’

Abdul nods slowly, thinking hard as Pasha murmurs from behind, ‘Colin never beat us with rubber pipes. I think he was being metaphorical.’

‘I should have beaten you with a rubber pipe,’ Colin says.

‘You’d need a big rubber pipe for Pash,’ Abdul says.

‘True,’ Colin says as the lift slowly drops through the floors while Abdul figures that beating Zhang with a rubber pipe wouldn’t work anyway. But there’s more than one way to get what you need. Especially with someone like Zhang.

7

Saturday Evening

The Humility

A buzz in the air of the otherwise silent cabin. The scent of sweat, sex and Elfor Juice hanging heavy over the bodies lying entwined on the floor, and Kristi Carter wakes with a rush. Momentarily at a loss at where she is. Then she lifts her head and looks down at Zhang Woo fast asleep between her legs.

‘Oh god, no,’ she whispers, rubbing her face in self-disgust. It’s so clichéd, too. A detective and a journalist. What was she thinking? How did it even happen? She never does things like that. She hasn’t even had a boyfriend since her career took off. Most men are either too intimidated by her success and fame, or just too old and sleazy.

She frowns with a sudden thought: maybe the fact Zhang wasn’t responding to her flirtation is the reason it happened? She then applies further mitigation by telling herself she had Elfor Juice after not sleeping for a whole day and night, plus all the excitement. But then she was only in his cabin for a few minutes. Jesus. That’s got to be a record or something.

The buzzing comes again. She lifts her wrist to squint at the display then sits bolt upright with a fresh jolt of panic at seeing she’s slept for hours and missed about a million calls. ‘Shit!’

‘Huh?’ Zhang murmurs, drifting awake with the vague notion that he’s once more nestled up against a woman without knowing who it is. His hand comes out. Floundering about for a few seconds until Kristi freezes and looks down at him cupping her breast.

‘Penny?’

‘Who the hell is Penny?’ she asks, while smoothing her hair down. ‘Shush. It’s my studio manager.’

‘Don’t answer it,’ he starts to say before her hand clamps over his mouth.

‘Hi, Kasim! Sorry, I was . . .’

‘Kristi! Thank god. Where the hell are you?’

‘I’m still on the Humility, I er . . . I stayed with a friend,’ she replies, with a sudden awareness that Zhang is still holding her boob. ‘You can let go now.’

‘Sorry, what?’ Kasim asks, distracted by off-screen updates.

‘Not you! Nothing. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Any updates?’

‘Are you shitting me? Yes. Yes and yes. Check your messages, I’ve sent you links to an interview we’ve just done with Helga.’

‘What? Who interviewed her? It’s in my contract that I get to interview captains and vice-captains.’

‘Your contract also states we can do what the fuck we want when you’re not answering your fucking wristband!’

‘Right. Well. We shall circle back to this later. Send me the links . . .’ she says while swatting Zhang’s hand away.

‘I’ve sent you the links. Fucking presenters.’

‘I’m a journalist, not a presenter!’ she calls as the feed cuts off. ‘Did you hear that? I hate being called a presenter.’

‘Mmmm,’ Zhang says.

‘What? Oh! Sorry,’ she says, taking her hand away as he sucks air in. ‘But seriously. Don’t ever call me a presenter. Anyway. Shush. I need to watch the interview with Helga . . .’

‘Oh god, no. Turn it off—’ But the hand comes back down over his mouth and another surreal moment comes to pass as he stares up at Kristi Carter while listening to the woman who is going to kill him.

‘Our early enquiries reveal that Mahatma Goudier was blackmailing Randolph Simpson in order to carry out a larceny against the Finance offices in which they both worked. We suspect that Mr Simpson resisted this attempt, which is when Miss Goudier reached out to the criminal underworld. Mr Simpson was then killed during the robbery and we suspect those same gangsters brutally murdered Miss Goudier in an effort to cover their tracks.’ Helga pauses as though to compose herself. ‘This was an isolated event that posed no risk to any other person on board the Humility . . . and I will repeat this again, at no time did the police have any plans to storm Neon City.’

The footage switches back to the news anchor, with Teddy Fox pulling a less-than-convinced face. ‘There you have it. An isolated incident of seduction, blackmail, robbery and murder. I can’t wait for the holo movie on that one . . .’

‘Oh my god,’ Kristi says, shaking her head. ‘Did you hear that? Teddy Fox is such a dick . . . I can’t wait for the holo movie on that one . . .’ she mimics in a deep voice. ‘But, wow. Mahatma was blackmailing Randolph. Silly woman. I mean, who asks criminals from the Elfors to help? What did she expect? Oh god, sorry, Zhang. She was your friend.’

‘Not my friend,’ he says dully, lifting his backside to tug his trousers up. ‘Just someone I knew.’

‘Sure. Anyway. I need to not be here,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘I am such a mess and I can’t believe we had sex . . . Where’s your coffee machine? It’s okay. I’ve got it. Espresso. Grade 4. Why isn’t it working?’

‘It’s not voice activated,’ Zhang says, thinking he’d bought the cheap machine so he’d have more credits for hookers in Neon City.

‘Oh sure, er, that’s fine,’ Kristi says politely, while thinking police detectives probably don’t earn enough to buy nice things. She gets the coffee going, then darts into the corner, tugging her skirt off as she brings the panels out. ‘Mind if I shower? I literally need to get on air like right now and do a response to Helga’s interview . . . but did you hear what Teddy Fox said? Honestly, he’s such a dick. He hates that I’m more popular than him, but then he won’t leave the desk and I’m flying about all over the fleet.’ She pauses with a sudden thoughtful expression and looks over at Zhang through the clear panels. ‘Er, so . . . listen. This isn’t my usual gig.’

Zhang stares over. Not understanding.

‘This,’ she says, motioning to the space between them. ‘I don’t normally wake up in hot detectives’ cabins after literally the best sex ever.’

Zhang stays silent, not sure what to say.

‘Anyway.’ She sets about drying vigorously and searching for underwear. ‘So, what happens now? What’s the procedure? What do I do? Is there like a system or something? I mean, you must do this all the time, right? Have you seen my blouse? Did I make coffee? I’ve got it. Oh, that’s nice coffee. Anyway, where’s my shirt? I’ve literally got to get on air. I bet Teddy Fox loved the fact I wasn’t available. Thanks,’ she says as Zhang hands her shirt over. ‘Oh god, this stinks. Damn it. I’ll have to borrow something. Have you got a shirt? Where do you keep them? In here?’

She pushes her coffee into his hand before turning away to start opening drawers underneath his sleeping tube. ‘I really need to start leaving clean clothes over here. I mean, I’m on the Humility like all the time now, and the elections are coming up. Can I wear this one?’ she asks, producing a clean white shirt.

Zhang nods, still unsure of what to say.

‘Thanks!’ She pulls her bra on and sets about sorting the shirt out. Rolling the sleeves up and tucking it into her skirt. Adjusting the collar then bringing up a 3-D reflection and setting to work with a digital make-up applicator. A minute later and she looks as spectacular as ever, glowing even, and she flashes a smile. ‘How do I look?’

He nods again, not trusting himself to speak.

‘I saw your fragrance bottle . . . mind if I use a bit?’ she asks, with an expression that’s part apology, part cheeky and wholly delightful. ‘That’s really nice stuff. Anyway. Er . . . oh my coffee!’ She steps in close to take the coffee from his hand and knocks it back before looking at him. ‘I should go . . .’

He nods.

‘Do we kiss or something? Is that normal?’ She leans in to kiss his cheek, feeling the stubble and seeing the marks and bruises coming out on his face and it makes her glance down. Seeing more over his body. He stands topless and inert, taking the scrutiny in silence. She glances at his stomach. At the muscles on show. At the veins in his arms. At the shape of his chest and the scratch marks from her nails. She takes in how lean he looks, too. Like he needs a damn good meal, and through it all he stays silent and unmoving. Not uttering a word and she finally pulls her eyes back to his face with a start as though she lost herself for a second.

‘Listen, I know you’re a cop and I’m a journalist, but, er, this was private, right? And this is going to sound cold, but it’s a one-off.’

He nods again. Figuring he’ll be dead before the day is out, anyway.

She grows still, seemingly caught in his dark eyes. ‘I’ll go then . . . maybe get some rest.’ She leans in to peck his cheek again; her hip bumping his groin as she looks down in surprise. ‘Why do you have an erection?’

Shame burns his cheeks and he closes his eyes, feeling like he’s suddenly been exposed for the filthy wretch he is.

‘Is that from watching me wash and dress?’

He doesn’t reply. What is there to say? The foremost thought in his mind is that he deserves the death that’s coming.

‘Jesus, Zhang,’ she says quietly.

He finally looks at her, ready to take the judgement, knowing he deserves it, and seconds later his mouth fills with her breast as he slams back into the wall. Her shirt undone. His trousers tugged down. Her skirt once more pulled up. Her legs wrapped about his waist and he thrusts deep and hard. Driving himself into her. Fingernails down his back. Her teeth on his neck. Her hands over his shoulders. They fall onto the sofa, kissing hard. Frantic and fierce. She orgasms quickly and repeatedly. Digging her nails into his body, adding to the pain he already feels.

* * *

Twenty minutes later and she stops in the door of his cabin on her way out. Eyes wide. Legs like jelly, and one hand holding the frame. She looks back at him wrapping a towel about his waist. At his dark eyes. At his hair falling over his forehead. She goes to speak but nothing comes out, so instead she offers a thumbs up and heads out, wondering why the hell she just stuck her thumb up like that.

Zhang stares after her, wondering why she just gave him a thumbs up, then wondering how the hell he just ended up having sex with Kristi Carter. Twice. Then he thinks of everything else and the grief and worry seep in to merge with his self-loathing.

He hasn’t had a chance to think straight since finding Mahatma’s body. Everything after that was a blur. He can’t even remember how he ended up in an interrogation room in HQ.

I do believe I am rather falling for you, Mr Woo.

He turns away and slumps his forehead against the wall. He failed. He fucked up. Mahatma is dead.

He gives thanks that at least she died quickly. He was traumatised at seeing it, but even in that state of anguish he still saw the sheer volume of blood that only comes from a main artery being opened, and that means she died fast. He did consider that maybe she was tortured before the artery was opened, but no, the arterial spray indicated maximum blood-loss at the point of death. He figures the butchering probably came after, which speaks of a truly psychotic mind, because only a freak attacks a dead body.

Strangely, he feels no such regard for Randolph. Zhang has been a cop for a long time. His whole family are cops. It’s terrible that Randolph was caught up in it all, but then Zhang also saw the footage of Randolph fucking Mahatma and saw how greedy and selfish he was. Whatever the reasons, the emotional connection isn’t the same.

He sips more coffee as his body, brain and heart start to thrum from the caffeine and chemicals. He starts visualising himself going into the Elfors and killing Dmitri. It quickly becomes a craving almost as strong as his addiction. But Zhang knows he’d be dead before he got within striking distance. Dmitri’s crew would move in like a pack. Not just his crew either, but anyone trying to earn favour.

He thinks about asking Abdul to help, but that wouldn’t work. Helga will just have more people to kill to clear it up.

Then he thinks maybe he could do a recording of everything he knows and send it to Kristi Carter. But again, something like a new planet is too big to think Kristi wouldn’t get hurt. He blasts air in frustration then thinks of Kristi and the way she straddled him on his sofa and on the floor, and the front of his towel pings out from his erection at the same time as his wristband vibrates with an incoming call.

He swipes it the wrong way, intending to cut it off, then panicking as the screen blooms up. ‘FUCK!’

‘Zhang?’

‘Hey, mom. How are you?’ he blurts, switching to Mandarin while angling the view up so she can’t see the bulge in his towel. ‘Mom, listen . . . I’m just on my way out—’

‘Dressed like that? Mind you, you are on the Humility so I wouldn’t be surprised. What’s happening there anyway? Double homicide and robbery, isn’t it? I told your father I’d call Jorgey Raynor and ask her—’

‘No! She’s really busy. And it’s fine. We’ve er . . . yeah, we’ve got it under control.’

‘How? The perps have gone into the Elfors. And what was that about a strike force entering Neon City? The Humility officers aren’t trained for that. You’ll need federal assistance from the Ark. Get Jorgey to ask your brother. Did we mention he’s a captain now?’

‘Yep. He’s a captain on the Ark. You’ve said.’

‘He’s a captain on the Ark now. But speak to your chief. You can’t bypass her like that, Zhang. You know how protocol works.’

‘I didn’t ask for anything!’

‘Your brother said he’ll put a year in as captain then go for promotion again. He’s very determined, your brother.’

‘Great. I’m happy for him,’ Zhang says, half wishing whoever is coming would kill him now.

‘And your sister’s had the baby.’

‘Another one? How many has she got now?’

‘One, Zhang. Your sister has one baby.’

‘Right. Yeah. Of course. One baby. I thought it was more . . . you know . . . because of the five million pictures I get sent every week.’

His mother sighs. A Chinese woman with a stern expression, the gold braids of her police uniform glinting from the overhead office lights. ‘When are you coming to see him?’

‘Who?’

‘Your nephew, Zhang! Your sister’s child.’

‘Oh right. Er . . . soon. Really soon.’

She rolls her eyes, giving him another look of frustration.

‘Listen, mom . . . I really need to go.’

‘We’ve also had a family discussion and decided you need to start thinking about your career. We’ve all done our time as detectives, Zhang. But it’s getting embarrassing.’

A knock at the door snaps Zhang’s head over. ‘Mom, I need to go,’ he says, turning from instinct to grab his Taser pistol, before remembering his sidearm has been seized. He looks at the coffee machine, thinking he might take one of the attackers out with it.

‘We think you should transfer. The Humility crime rate is soaring and that does not look good on your resume, Zhang.’

‘Uh-huh.’ He activates the panel to see who’s outside and frowns in surprise, forgetting his mother on the call as he opens the door. ‘Colin?’

‘Who is Colin?’ his mother asks.

‘I’m Colin,’ Colin says before glancing down at the towel. ‘Why do you have an erection?’

‘Who has an erection? Zhang? Who is that man? That’s Commander Sanders! Zhang, you never said you know Colin Sanders.’

‘Gym buddies,’ Colin says, shooting an arm out to the side to keep someone else out of view.

‘Thank god! Do you know how many career contacts we’ve made through sports? Colin, nice to meet you. I’m Zhang’s mother.’

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Woo,’ Colin says politely. ‘Zhang, the lads are waiting . . .’

‘You boys have fun! And Colin, tell my son not to stay a detective.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I don’t think he will be for much longer.’

Zhang cuts the call and stares at Colin for a second. ‘Didn’t think it would be you.’

‘Me what? And seriously, why are you on a call to your mother with an erection?’

‘Colin. Just get it done, but listen. I’m not doing it in the Elfors. We’ll do it in here. I don’t have any weapons but depending on how rough it gets I might throw the coffee machine at you.’

Colin mutters under his breath while rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘This is what happens when Penny’s away.’

‘Penny?’ Zhang asks. ‘Why would they send Penny to kill me?’

Colin just looks at him for several long seconds, before drawing his outstretched arm back to guide Carla Big Lips into view. ‘I’ll be back in an hour,’ he adds, glancing down at Zhang’s groin again as he walks off.

‘Abdul said you might be hungry,’ Carla says, walking into his cabin looking very out of place in a skintight glow-in-the-dark pink catsuit with pull-down flaps covering her breasts and groin. ‘And he said to tell you it’s free.’

‘The food?’

‘No, silly! Me. I would have done it for free. Or at half price anyway. Er . . . did you want to fuck before or after food? Or we can do it during if you want . . .’

Zhang just stares at her, feeling confused and overwhelmed and repulsed and weirded out as Carla shoves a synth cube in his mouth and drops to her knees while tugging the towel free.

‘Carla, no . . .’

‘It’s fine. I said I’ve been paid.’

‘It’s not about the credits,’ he says with a mouthful of cube, then grunts at the sudden warmth down below. ‘Seriously . . . I’ve got to stop doing this.’

‘Schmoodoo.’

‘Pardon?’

She pulls free and looks up. ‘I said you do. You need to control your addiction, but Abdul said if you’re worrying about sex all the time then it will distract you, and you need to think straight.’ She smiles up at him. Peroxide blonde hair and thick make-up that looks amazing in Neon City but harsh up here. ‘And it’s not like we haven’t done it like a thousand times before . . .’ She smiles again, soft and genuine. ‘I like you, Zhang . . . I mean for real.’ She pauses with the same look in her eyes that Mahatma had. ‘You’re easy to fall for.’

He thinks to scream out and get free, but a short while later he is once more lying on his back on his cabin floor in a puddle of disgust and sweat listening to the deafening silence. Trying to think why Abdul is helping him – but then Abdul doesn’t know who’s behind it all, or that Zhang is a dead man walking. Or rather, a dead man lying in a puddle of disgust and sweat. That’s what it is. Abdul wants to know more and he’s keeping Zhang sweet by sending food and his favourite hooker.

A call on his wristband. ‘Detective,’ Helga says when he swipes to answer. ‘I think you and I need to talk. Five minutes, please. My office.’

She cuts the call and he wonders what it must be like to have such power over people that you can order them to their execution. He’ll do it, too. He knows he will, because if he doesn’t then she might go after more people.

* * *

‘Detective Woo,’ she says, moving out from behind her desk when he walks into her office. He looks about, seeing the room is empty, and flicks his eyes back to her, not quite grasping the situation or why she is risking being alone with him.

‘Come, sit with me,’ she says, like he’s a dog being ordered to heel.

Helga turns quickly, hearing and sensing him as he strides across her office and a second later his hand grips her throat, driving her into the back of a sofa, and never before has she seen such a look of murderous intent on someone’s face. But then she doesn’t flinch or cry out. She doesn’t hit the panic button on her wristband either to summon the guards and, in truth, she doesn’t know why. She just stares into his eyes, feeling the pressure growing in her skull from the lack of blood and a roar going past her ears.

Her heart beats hard. Her stomach tenses. Her limbs shake, but there’s a thrill, too. A thing inside that keeps her eyes glued to his. Seeing the dark rage beneath the surface bubbling up. She can feel his strength. He could kill her with ease, and god only knows he has every right to do that.

But still she doesn’t hit the alarm. There’s a thing happening. A charge between them creating a reality unlike anything she has ever experienced. She gasps again when he twists to tower over her, his body leaning into hers. A position of dominance and control, and her life literally in his hands.

This is power. This is real unadulterated power. To be this close to death and to stare him in the eyes. Daring him to do it while not entirely sure that he won’t. Flirting with Abdul gave her a thrill, but this – seeing Zhang right at the brink with his hand around her neck – is more than anything she has ever felt.

‘Why did you kill her? She didn’t know about your planet.’

She hardens her features, pushing her hand between them to weaponize his Achilles heel as that thrill for the danger ramps higher. ‘I didn’t.’ She gasps the words out and the war becomes fought right there. Each of them holding the other. Both knowing only one of them can win. Shoving and pushing for space. Her eyes wide and staring. Her teeth showing. Her face flushing red from the thrill, from the heat, from his hand on her neck.

He’s going to kill her. She’s going to die. What the hell is she doing? There’s no thought here. Just that rush inside at not knowing how this will end. Her own life starting to flash before her eyes. Memories and images.

Then suddenly his grip eases and he sags into her. She gasps for air. Terrified. Horrified. Exhilarated. His head sinks forward, resting against hers. She reaches up to grip the back of his neck, holding him close.

‘I didn’t kill her . . .’ she whispers, hoarse and broken. Butting her head against his. ‘I promise you . . . I didn’t kill her . . .’

‘You’re a fucking liar . . .’

‘Yes. I am. But not about this. You have to trust me. . .’

He shakes his head, but she holds him close, still breathing hard.

‘You ran up to the docking station and tried to stop the overnight shuttle to the Beijing. You know who took the code, Zhang. You know they got onto that shuttle. It wasn’t Mahatma. She was in the party all night. Someone else did. Someone you know. Someone Dmitri knows.’ She gently pushes him back. ‘Right, this is what’s going to happen. You still work for me.’ She brushes past him and walks to the bathroom. ‘Tell me, does Abdul knows what the code is for?’

Zhang stays silent, thinking he won’t reply. Thinking to tell her to go fuck herself.

‘I’m not going to kill him if that’s what you’re worried about,’ she calls out. ‘I just need to know how contained we are,’ she says as he appears in the doorway. ‘Dmitri killed Randolph and realised who took the code. I’m not certain on the sequence of events. Needless to say, you are.’ She starts washing her hands, looking at his reflection in the mirror above her basin. ‘Dmitri was heard yelling at someone to give him the code. Which is when Abdul intervened and Dmitri escaped while two other people, assisted by Abdul’s PA, went up to Level 20 and boarded the shuttle. Do you know them?’

‘Mahatma didn’t need to die. She wouldn’t have said anything.’

‘I told you. I didn’t kill her. Mahatma was greedy, and I could have used her again to blackmail someone else. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You used her as much as I did, more I shouldn’t wonder. I need to change.’

He turns away when she tugs her dress down, catching sight of her black underwear.

‘Are you shy? Or am I too old for you to look at? Don’t answer that. It’s a loaded question. Anyway, you know about the new planet. I thought you’d work it out. Have you told anyone?’

‘No.’

She gives him another look. Bizarrely maternal and filled with disappointment as she stares deep into his soul and the truth laid bare. ‘Not even Abdul?’

He takes too long to reply and in so doing gives her the answer.

‘Do not tell anyone else, Zhang. Nobody can know about it.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘It’s a new planet. The whole fleet should know.’

‘Don’t be naïve.’

‘It’s a new fucking planet! Hang on, how do you even know about it?’

She looks at him, seeing his desire to know. But then, it’s the sole reason the fleet exists in the first place. It’s why none of the millions of people across the forty worldships have ever breathed fresh air or walked on land. They’ve never picked wildflowers or swum in the ocean. Never seen a real sunset or sunrise. Never felt real snow or wind. The only reason the fleet exists is for a new planet. The simplicity of the mission, the grand human migration to seek a new home, is stark and obvious. But things are never that simple. Nothing is ever that simple, and right now she can see Zhang needs to know, and she needs to keep him on side.

‘We embedded a secret program within the Gagarin.’

If he’s surprised it doesn’t show. ‘We?’ he asks.

‘Our little quartet. The Humility, the Chastity, the Kindness and the Abstinence. It’s meant to be just the captains and me who know, although those captains may well have their own inner circles. But yes. We put a secret program in, and the results have confirmed the existence of a planet that appears to be within the parameters to sustain life. The probe has to go back out to verify the find. And in the meantime, our missing code was meant to change the fleet’s course, so we start aiming in the right direction.’

Zhang thinks to ask how the hell they can alter the fleet’s trajectory without everyone knowing, but the truth is the fleet is constantly changing course to avoid meteorites, radiation surges and debris picked up by probes.

‘Zhang. Listen to me. We don’t know if this planet is habitable, or even if someone or something else is already on it. We don’t know anything, and the mere mention of a new planet will see this fleet tearing itself apart.’

‘Why the hell would it do that? We’re all in this together.’

‘No. We are not. We are travelling together. That’s it. We still have the same power struggles that we had on Earth. The same countries still hate each other, and the same superpowers still dominate this fleet. One mention of that planet and I guarantee ships will break formation to try and reach it first.’

‘What the fuck!’

‘What if there’s only one landmass? Who gets it? Who controls it? The Ark holds us all central now, but we won’t need the Ark. Who forms the government? Who chooses borders? Who lands first? Who names it? Who gets the mineral and mining rights? Who allies with who?’

‘It won’t be like that.’

‘It is like that! It’s always been like that. The very first person we gave that code to ran off with it and tried to blackmail me and now he’s dead. This must stay secret, Zhang.’

He nods slowly with reluctant understanding. ‘I’ll get it back.’

‘It’s too late for that, Zhang.’

‘I said I’ll get it back. The person that took it didn’t realise what it was.’

‘Zhang. It’s too late now. It’s out and there are other factions at play here. I told you. I didn’t order Mahatma to be killed. The situation wasn’t out of control enough to warrant that. I can only assume that someone else employed Dmitri to kill her as some kind of message. Or he did it to cover his tracks. But it means that whoever has that code will be next. Go to the Beijing. They’ll send Dmitri to get the code back and kill whoever took it . . . I need you there watching them.’

‘Whoa, hang on. I can’t go to the Beijing.’

‘Because of your family?’

‘Yes, and . . . some other things,’ he says with a frown. ‘Send someone else.’

‘Do you think I have an endless supply of henchmen in a cupboard? This is you and I.’

‘You are fucking joking.’

‘Nope. There are some powerful forces at work here, Zhang. Forces more powerful than me and unless we’re smart we’ll also be on that kill list.’ She pauses to sigh, placing the lid back on a pot of cream she was rubbing into her face. ‘I need time to work it out and I don’t have anyone else.’

He sags back into the doorway, feeling weary to the bone.

‘Anyway. It’s late. I need to sleep.’ She pushes her hands to his chest, turning him about. Weirdly motherly and caring. ‘There’s no back-up plan, Zhang. That code is our only bargaining power and simply having it isn’t enough. We need to tell whoever the other forces are that we’re strong too. Do what you have to do, and I’ll take care of things here.’ She reaches up to kiss his cheek as he nods like the docile dog he is. ‘Goodnight, Detective. I’ll send you some expenses.’

She ushers him out and his mind spins as he trudges down the stairs to his level. Too many thoughts all vying for attention at the same time. Too many emotions that need addressing. He’s exhausted too. Drained and jaded. His mind spinning and fracturing, with nothing making sense. He needs sleep. He needs rest. A few minutes later and he reaches his cabin.

‘Zhang!’ Kristi calls out, rushing towards him. ‘Hey. I need to grab my shirt.’

He goes inside, finds the shirt and turns back as his head snaps over with a ringing slap. ‘You were fucking her!’

‘I . . .’

‘You fucking lowlife!’

‘Kristi.’

‘You should have told me you were fucking her. You found her body, then fucked me. Jesus. Who does that? And I gave myself to you, Zhang. I fucking gave myself to you . . .’ She hits him again in the same place, with enough force to make her hand hurt. Her heart hammering in her chest. Her stomach in knots since she heard the rumours from a source in his department and suffered the humiliation of having to pretend like nothing was wrong. ‘Is this a game to you? Like a sick fucking game? You found your murdered girlfriend, then . . .’

‘She wasn’t my girlfriend . . .’ He cuts off when she hits him again, but his head snaps back to glare at her, his eyes blazing. She hits him again, but he rights quickly, glaring hard. Another hit. Another stare. Rage inside of her. Rage in him, too. Hers manifesting in violence, his remaining inert and passive, and she hits him again, harder than before, then staggers back in shock and horror with her hand stinging.

‘You’re a fucking creep, you know that, right?’ No reaction. Nothing. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me why you did it. LOOK AT ME!’

He turns back and she flinches at the sight. His cheek red raw. Blood oozing from his lips. His eye swelling up. Disgust hits that she did that. That she hurt someone else. Fear for self-preservation kick in too. That she’s getting drawn into something that could ruin her career. Too many thoughts at once. Too many emotions inside. Everything too fraught.

He goes to speak but nothing comes out. Pain in his eyes. Deep pain. A hurt unlike anything she’s ever seen before, and she lifts a shaking hand to her own mouth with tears spilling over her cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. It’s all he can say.

‘I’m not promiscuous, Zhang. Sex means something to me. I don’t . . . I don’t do things like that. This is my career. Jesus! I just slept with the detective who was fucking the murdered girl!’

‘Kristi . . .’

‘Do you score us? Is that it? What do I get? Five out of ten for trying but extra points for being famous?’ She shakes her head at him, filled with contempt. ‘You’re so handsome, Zhang but . . . that’s disgusting. You found her body, then screwed me, and you never said a word. You’ll die lonely. Men like you always do. You’ll get old and fuck hookers until you become sad and broken.’

She falls silent at seeing the tears spilling from his eyes. His hands shaking. His legs too. His whole body looking ready to drop, and his face. Oh god, his face. His eye swelling up. His cheek red raw, and the blood dripping from his mouth. He won’t become broken. He is broken. The anger slides away, expelled in violence and now morphing into pity and shame at her own actions.

‘I’m so sorry.’ He whispers the words out, not looking at her. Not moving.

‘What is wrong with you?’ she asks, but he stays silent with words inside that just won’t come out.

‘I’m so sorry . . .’ It’s all he can say. Tears falling down his hurt cheeks. It’s not self-pity, either. No, it is. But deep and agonising. Tortured even, and she closes her eyes, hating herself for lashing out like she just did. Hating him. Hating this.

‘Okay. It’s okay. Just . . . come here.’ She moves towards him, needing to give comfort, with rage and pity swinging back and forth inside.

‘Don’t,’ he says, moving back a step.

‘It’s okay.’ She reaches out to his shoulders, feeling him resist. ‘I said it’s okay. You look ready to find a suicide booth.’ She pulls him in, rubbing his shoulders and back. ‘It’s okay . . . I shouldn’t have hit you. Maybe it was shock or something. I don’t know. Maybe life just happens sometimes. Bad judgement or whatever.’

The kindness is too much and the sobs start coming. He grabs her sides, his body trembling. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t . . . I can’t stop it . . . it just takes over.’

She holds him closer, her own tears flowing from the emotion in the air. His body starting to heave with the sobs. Then she freezes and pulls back to stare at the erection bulging in his trousers. ‘Zhang, honey . . .’

‘I can’t stop it!’

She looks at the state of him. At the tears and blood and his eye swelling up. A need inside to fix him. To make it better. To ease the pain and right in that second, she almost goes forward to give him the thing he needs. To fuck him again.

‘I’ve got to go.’ She backs up towards the door, shaking her head. ‘You need help . . . get some help.’

‘Kristi . . .’

‘We never met. Stay the fuck away from me.’

8

Sunday Morning

The Beijing

A surreal moment comes to pass in a changing cubicle as Yasmine stares at her 3-D reflection and remembers being back on the Humility doing this very same thing.

It was weird after the meeting in the hotel room. The raw tension expelled during the heated exchanges had somehow scored the air, making everything feel hollow and forced.

Sam hacked the shower, giving them all limitless time to wash. Clara took the second tube. Penny took the couch and Sam and Yasmine finally crawled into the privacy of their own sleeping tube. Which, as it turned out, was fitted with quite possibly the worst privacy screens ever invented.

‘It’s meant to be a hotel!’ she whispered angrily to Sam. ‘They should be soundproofed.’

‘Well they’re not,’ Penny said from outside.

It meant they couldn’t talk, and it also boshed any notion of rekindling the romance they had earlier. Not that either of them was in any fit state by then.

They left the hotel just a little while ago and ventured into the walkways to a retail zone. Yasmine was on autopilot when they first walked in and drifted along the displays, picking out the same kind of things she’d always worn. Dark muted colours.

‘You’re not a thief anymore,’ Penny said, taking the items from her arms to hand back to a store assistant.

Now she swipes her reflection away and looks down at the new outfit that Penny suggested she wear and steps out to see Clara and Penny fussing over Sam.

‘You’re a damn cutey pie,’ Clara says, reaching her muscled arms out to soften Sam’s unruly hair. ‘Yassy’s one lucky bitch. Where is she anyway?’

‘Fuck it,’ Yasmine mutters, looking like a rat caught in a wristband flashlight as they all turn to look at her. Sam blinks, instantly forgetting everyone else as he stares at Yasmine wearing tight fitting trousers with a matching jacket. Both in black with a white digital geometric pattern that changes each time it fades in and out. A wide band holding the two sides of the jacket together over her bust while showing the olive skin of her stomach and the top of her chest. Jet-black hair tied back in a simple ponytail. High cheekbones. Dark eyes. The room falls silent.

‘I know, right. I look like a dick.’

‘That girl’s got some genes,’ Clara says. ‘You hearing me on that?’ she asks the Chinese assistants, who all nod very quickly.

‘Whatever. We done?’

‘Everything fit okay?’ Penny asks.

‘Yup,’ Yasmine says, remembering to be polite. ‘Please and thank you.’

‘What?’ Penny asks.

‘Nothing. How much is all this costing anyway?’

Penny frowns for a second while counting to herself.

‘Penny, I didn’t mean literally.’

‘Shush. Er . . . three thousand eight hundred and fifty creds.’

‘What?!’

‘What?’

‘Are you joking? For a shopping trip?’

‘Oh, I see. No, that’s normal,’ Penny says. ‘Anyway. Come on, I’ll show you how to pay using Abdul’s account.’

* * *

They head back out into New Beijing and the narrow lanes and walkways of the retail and tourist zone of the ship. Sam can’t take it all in fast enough and marvels at the open-fronted stores and the goods on display, watched over by hawk-like vendors yelling out their prices and wares.

‘We’ll head into Ghost Street,’ Clara says, taking charge of their journey, and sets off towards the long line of eateries bordering one side of Confucius Square.

‘Why’s it called Ghost Street?’ Yasmine asks.

‘It’s named after a famous street,’ Sam shouts back over the din. ‘Gui Jei. They think it’s because it sounds the same, and because the original Ghost Street always had glowing lanterns and coffin shops, which made it look spooky.’

‘How do you know that?’ Penny asks.

‘Sam literally knows everything,’ Yasmine says, as Sam looks about at a place so gloriously different. The acoustics are amazing too, with echoes and sounds he’s never heard before. Everything that’s happened is awful. People are dead and that’s a tragedy, but to be here and see it all captivates his mind.

‘Honey?’ Clara says, grabbing a waiter yelling outside one of the eateries. ‘You got Beijing Rat on the menu?’

‘Best rat in the fleet right here,’ he yells back, ushering them into his section.

‘We want enough for six people. And serve it up with some low GI noodles. The good ones, sweetie. Not the cheap things. I didn’t slave in a gym to ruin it all with bad food, you getting all this?’

‘And four coffees,’ Penny adds as the waiter rushes off.

‘What’s wrong with cubes?’ Yasmine says, as Clara finally decides where they will sit.

‘Tell you what, Yassy. When we get back to the hotel, I’ll show you some documentaries on food production so you can see what you’re putting into your body.’

‘My body is fine.’

‘Your body is fine because you grew up in the Elfors eating rat and drinking water. And also because you got damn fine genes. Hell, look at Penny, she’s a damn attractive woman and she grew up in the same place, eating rat and drinking water.’

‘No,’ Penny says, shaking her head. ‘People die young in the Elfors.’

‘They die young from violence, drugs, booze and the lack of medication to control the spread of diseases, and because they don’t get education or know enough to lead good lives. There’s your big killers. Now, sure. A rat doesn’t give you the nutrition you need, but as a clean source of protein in contrast to the synthesised junk cooked up in chemical vats on the Ark? And trust me. I worked there long enough to see it.’

‘You worked on the Ark?’ Sam asks, thinking she was a bodyguard in Neon City.

She nods as the food comes over with a platter of rats skewered on sticks. Sticky with glaze and a sweet aroma wafting up.

‘We were Feds on the Ark. Me, Boris, Pash. That’s how we all know each other. Hell, most of the security personnel in the fleet started out on the Ark. You never seen it, huh? Biggest damn place you’ll ever go.’

‘So, you were a police officer?’

She shakes her head while swallowing. ‘It’s a bit different. The cops on the Humility. They’re domestic police, right. They do normal cop stuff. The Feds have different sections. Tactical teams, investigations and so on. Colin was an investigation commander. Damn good cop too, let me tell you that. The rest of us were from the tactical teams. You know, strike forces, VIP protection, sentry work and policing the bars and clubs. We’d go all over the fleet busting up gangs and arresting violent offenders. Public disorder or whatever was needed. Best years of my life. No doubt about it.’

‘Sounds amazing,’ Sam says in genuine awe, feeling like he wasted years of his life working at one airlock when he could have been busting up dangerous gangs.

‘Anywho,’ Clara says, fixing a look at Penny. ‘What’s the plan for the day?’

‘Today’s Sunday so we won’t get much done. We’ll head back, rest up and hit it hard tomorrow morning. We need to be seen being seen, remember that. You both work for Abdul now. Sam, you can make a start on researching Abdul’s online presence. Yassy, we’ll visit some of Abdul’s clients in New Shanghai. We haven’t visited them for a long time so we might get some flak, but the main thing is you get seen working over here. That way nobody can suspect you and Sam of running away from anything.’

Yasmine nods and shoves her food about. ‘What’s happening with Sven and Janey?’

‘I’ve sent them a proposal,’ Penny replies. ‘Abdul’s offered to buy the café but let them run it as their place.’

Yasmine figures Abdul keeping Sven and Janey on side gives him leverage because Abdul knows they were involved in the theft. They know Abdul knows and Abdul knows they know he knows. ‘They all know,’ she mutters and loops an arm about her serving dish as she lowers down to decrease the distance between her mouth and the food.

Penny used to do the same. Abdul said it comes from growing up in the Elfors with a constant fear that someone would take your food away. Penny was just an assistant back then. They were out having food in Neon City. Abdul leant over and gently touched her shoulder to make her sit up. He never said anything. He didn’t need to.

She feels an urge to do the same now, but holds off for fear of patronising Yasmine in front of Sam and Clara.

Being around Yasmine has brought back memories she long forgot. The fun they had as feral kids, that all ended the day Simon and Dmitri killed Simon’s dad.

Penny remembers being confused because he’d done a bad thing. He’d killed Simon’s mother, but then it felt wrong to kill him. Everything felt wrong and Penny begged Yasmine to leave with her. They’d die if they stayed in the Elfors. They talked about slipping into Neon City and getting jobs. They’d save money and pay someone for registration and get out of the Elfors. And that dream got so close too – until Yasmine said no to Dmitri, and no was not a word Dmitri liked.

Penny didn’t know about the rape until after. Yasmine hid for ages and never said a word, but she got wilder and more defiant. Drinking, partying, taking drugs – and then, in sheer desperation, Penny slipped away on her own, while Yasmine learned to steal so her party would never end.

A sixth sense within Yasmine makes her look up to see Penny staring at her with a distant look in her eyes, but she notices something else too. She notices the way Penny, Sam and Clara are eating, and becomes painfully aware of her arm looped about her bowl and the way she’s hunched over. A stab of shame hits with a sudden self-perception of just how uneducated and crass she is. Wild Yassy. Crazy Yassy. Feral and stupid. She clears her throat and slowly draws her arm back, wondering if her ability to run is her only true skill in life.

9

Monday Morning

The Beijing

‘Okay. This is it,’ Penny says, stepping from a busy stairwell. ‘New Shanghai. It’s kind of like our Level 25 where all the industry is done.’

The next floor down from New Beijing, and Yasmine looks out from the platform to a huge sprawling level of alleys and walkways. A place of function filled with busy, serious-looking people dressed in smart two-piece outfits or mesh jackets and collarless shirts. An eatery off to one side packed with people in meetings with mini-me 3-D replicas of themselves next to their shoulders giving real-time translation.

‘First stop is Mr Ming . . . what’s wrong?’ Penny asks, setting off, then stopping as she sees Yasmine trying to tug her jacket closed.

‘I don’t like people seeing my belly. I look like a dancer from the Hocus Pocus,’ she says.

‘It’s just different to what you normally wear. Come on, we’re in here,’ Penny says, motioning to the side, and leads Yasmine over to a door. ‘Remember, just be nice and polite.’

They head inside to a large busy room filled with men and women sorting pharmaceutical boxes and vials and an older Chinese man greeting them with a polite smile. ‘Penny!’

‘Mr Ming. It is an honour to see you again. Abdul passes his sincerest apologies that he was not able to attend personally.’

‘It is always a pleasure, Penny. Would you like some tea? You must have travelled far.’

‘Tea would be most refreshing, Mr Ming. Thank you.’

Yasmine follows them into a back room, where a young woman politely motions which chairs Penny and Yasmine should use. Yasmine heads to hers and goes to sit down, before noticing everyone else is still standing.

‘Mr Ming, may I introduce my colleague, Miss Dufont.’

‘Hi,’ Yasmine says, offering a smile. ‘Good operation you’ve got going on. Drugs is it?’

A pause. A beat. Mr Ming smiles politely and reaches his hand out to Yasmine. ‘Miss Dufont. It is a pleasure. Would you like some tea?’

‘I thought we already said that,’ Yasmine says, then remembers she has to be polite. ‘Please and thank you.’

‘Yasmine is yet to delight in your tea, Mr Ming. It is the best on the Beijing,’ Penny says smoothly.

Mr Ming nods to his daughter, then finally motions to the seats. ‘Please, sit down. There is no need to be formal here.’

‘That is very gracious of you, Mr Ming,’ Penny says as they all take seats and smile and nod until the daughter comes back with the tea. ‘That smells amazing,’ Penny says, delicately sniffing the air. ‘I believe your tea is an old family recipe, Mr Ming?’

‘It is, but sadly we make it with synthesised herbs now. It is not the same as it once was. Please, drink your tea.’

‘How’s business?’ Penny asks, reaching for her cup.

‘We are still having problems,’ Mr Ming says in a tired voice. ‘My deliveries are constantly wrong. I’m missing stock or getting things I don’t need that I can’t sell.’

‘I heard the customs officers over here are dicks,’ Yasmine says. ‘So, is it okay to ask about your business now?’

‘Mr Ming runs a medical and pharmaceutical supply business,’ Penny says.

‘Yeah, I saw the drugs on the way in. You’ve got some high-grade stuff, Mr Ming. Let me know if you’re selling,’ she says with a grin. ‘No, but seriously. I can shift some of that, no probs. Apart from the Calm-a-Mind you’ve got. You need to talk to your supplier about that. You’ve got the old batch. They’ve enhanced it now with a synthetic retrograde booster. It works faster and lasts longer. I mean, as a sedative? It still works brilliantly. But the newer batches? That’s the stuff right there. Make sure the blister packs have the green edges. That’s how they marked out the change.’

Penny clears her throat and offers a smile. ‘His supplier is Abdul.’

‘No way! Abdul’s a drug dealer? I thought he peddled clothes and food.’

‘Haha! No. Abdul is not a drug dealer. He supplies medical and pharmaceuticals, amongst other things. But yes, Mr Ming. I will certainly ensure you get the latest batch of Cum-a-Lot in the next run,’ Penny says.

‘Calm-a-Mind,’ Yasmine says. ‘Cum-a-Lot is something entirely different,’ she adds as Penny blanches at what she just said and hopes to hell Yasmine doesn’t try to explain it. ‘Cum-a-Lot is for female orgasms,’ Yasmine says, thereby saying the thing Penny dreaded she was going to say. ‘Cum-a-Lot-More is the male version. Never actually tried it personally. The female one that is. But then I wasn’t really into sex. I’ve got a boyfriend now though, and er, yeah, we might even have sex one day, if we ever get any privacy . . . this tea is really nice by the way. I thought oh shit, we’re gonna be stuck with cheap synth tea, when you brought it out, but this is lovely. My mate Sven runs this café back on the Humility, he’d could easily sell this. So, yeah, wow, Abdul’s your dealer then. Fancy that.’

‘He’s really not a dealer,’ Penny says. ‘Abdul is part of several purchasing syndicates supplying high quality merchandise to reputable people like Mr Ming.’

Yasmine sips the delicious tea and thinks on what Penny said for a moment. ‘Do you remember when Robby The Blind teamed up with Twinkle Toes Tommy and Sally Mole-On-Her-Nose to do an Elfor drop on Polski The Sad and take over his supply of Green Wizard? They called it a syndicate. Is it the same thing as that?’ she asks, as Mr Ming and his daughter look at Penny for her reply.

‘Er, well, I mean . . . if they teamed up to buy more which meant they could buy it for less then possibly, yes.’

‘I think it was more like they teamed up to mulch all of Polski The Sad’s crew so they could steal his stock,’ she tells Mr Ming’s daughter. ‘Did you ever try Green Wizard?’

Mr Ming’s daughter shakes her head.

‘Seriously. Don’t. That’s some nasty stuff. I did it one time and kept seeing green wizards for days. Which is why it got called Green Wizard. But they weren’t nice green wizards.’

‘Anyway,’ Penny announces into the stunned silence. ‘It’s great to see you again, Mr Ming, and do say if there is anything we can do for you.’

‘I messaged you, Penny. Our deliveries are missing stock and we’re not getting what we ordered, or we’re getting out-of-date medicines and old products we can’t sell. It is having a serious impact on my business.’

‘I will absolutely look into that,’ Penny says seriously. ‘I can only assume there’s been a breakdown in the supply chain. But this has been great. Really great,’ she adds, while motioning for Yasmine to get up.

‘Whoa, boss wants to go,’ Yasmine says, winking at Mr Ming. ‘Thanks for the tea, and remember . . . no Green Wizard!’

‘What the actual fuck!?’ Penny says, striding into the walkway. ‘Jesus, Yassy. I don’t even know where to start.’

‘Start with selling proper gear, that’s my advice. But you were right, Mr Ming was lovely. Who’s next?’

Penny stops to draw air. Reminding herself it was her idea to recruit Yasmine in the first place. ‘We’ve got Mrs Sing, and er, I think this time it would be good if we were a bit less informal?’

‘Okay. Got it. Less informal. Understood. Do you think Sam’s okay? Maybe we should call him and check.’

‘They’ll be fine. Sam’s got his own work to do.’

* * *

Into another packed walkway in New Shanghai, and Yasmine tugs the jacket together to hide her belly while brushing shoulders with workers and traders.

‘And No More Excuses is trending right across the fleet after the recent tragedies on board the Humility, where Kristi Carter is currently live and waiting to join us. Kristi? Are you there?’

‘Hang on,’ Penny calls, slowing to watch the news food playing outside an eatery.

‘Hi, Teddy.’ Kristi blooms into view. ‘And yes, I’m still on board the Humility . . . and boy, let me tell you, I think just one excuse would be nice to hear,’ she adds with a forced smile while glaring at the camera.

‘Wow. She looks pissed off,’ Yasmine remarks as Penny nods.

‘Okay!’ Teddy says, glancing sideways off-screen with a what’s she on about expression. ‘Say, Kristi. Can you tell us what No More Excuses means?’

‘Sure thing, Teddy. That’s why I’m here, after all. To report on the news and absolutely nothing else . . .’

The camera pulls back to show Jean Schrieber and Trudy Marlow dressed in sombre collarless shirts. ‘Councillor Marlow, perhaps you can tell us where No More Excuses comes from.’

‘I’ll tell you where it came from,’ Jean says before Trudy can answer. ‘The good people on board the Humility have simply had enough! We’ve got Elfor gangs robbing and murdering innocent civilians. Why should we suffer for stowaways? They entered this vessel illegally and bred like rats. Let me tell you this. Mahatma Goudier was an innocent victim and Randolph Simpson was a hero for standing up to those thugs. He should be honoured.’

‘He was also a married man in a position of responsibility that entered into a sexual relationship with a junior member of his staff,’ Kristi says. ‘One might even suggest that he abused his position.’

‘You’re twisting my words. Randolph Simpson was an upstanding member of this community who was corrupted and tricked into doing something against his will.’

‘By who?’ Kristi asks.

‘By Mahatma Goudier!’

‘But you just said she was a victim. How can she be a victim and complicit in the offence at the same time?’

‘We need to seal the Elfors.’ Trudy jumps in, desperate for airtime.

‘Let me add this,’ Jean says, moving in front of Trudy. ‘If we bring Neon City into Level 30 then we won’t need access to the Elfors at all. They can stay down there while we enjoy the safe passage our families paid for. It’s time we faced up to the fact that we need to seal the stairwells before we all get killed.’

‘Holy fucking fuck and fuckass fuck,’ Penny says, as Yasmine blinks at her. ‘Did you actually hear that?’

‘Yeah, and you swearing. Where did that come from?’

‘This is way worse than I thought. Jean’s a vile man. He hates Abdul, too. Right. Okay. Let’s get Mrs Sing done, then I’ll call Abdul and see what’s going on.’

‘Shouldn’t we do that now? If it’s all kicking off, I mean.’

‘Yes, we should, but we also need to be seen over here to validate your reasons for leaving the Humility. The code, remember?’

‘How could I forget?’ Yasmine asks as Penny rushes off.

Into another side walkway to a work-unit and in through an open door. A store inside with a counter running wall to wall. The same drugs and pharmaceuticals as Mr Ming, but with bigger gaps on the shelves. Yasmine notices old stock, too. Stuff that wouldn’t even get sold in the Elfors.

‘Penny!’ A voice calls from a harassed woman motioning them over.

‘Mrs Sing, how are you?’ Penny says, ducking under the counter, the hinged top too laden with clutter to be lifted.

‘Come through,’ Mrs Sing says. ‘Sun, I’ll be back in ten!’ she yells at her daughter in Mandarin before rushing on ahead of Penny and Yasmine into a back room. A well-worn inflatable sofa and mismatched chairs. A table between them, and this time Yasmine stays on her feet, remembering the protocol. ‘What’s wrong? Are they dirty?’ Mrs Sing asks, grabbing a rag to scrub the seat. ‘SUN! Get in here and make the tea. That should do it. You don’t want that nice suit all filthy.’

‘And who’s going to serve while I’m in here?’ Sun replies, rushing in.

‘Lee’s out there.’

‘Lee’s an idiot,’ Sun says, striding over to the drinks machine as Mrs Sing mops the sweat from her forehead with the same rag she used to wipe Yasmine’s chair.

‘Penny. How are you? And who is this? Who are you?’ Mrs Sing asks, looking from Penny to Yasmine. ‘I’m Yola Sing,’ she says, thrusting a hand over the table.

‘I’m Miss Dufont,’ Yasmine says, remembering Penny said to be less informal and more polite.

‘The tea’s ran out,’ Sun snaps from the corner in Mandarin.

‘Coffee is fine,’ Yasmine says. ‘We had tea at Mr Ming’s . . .’

‘Mr Ming was on the way here,’ Penny explains quickly. ‘And it was a courtesy visit as we were passing, but of course you are our most valued and loyal customer on the Beijing.’

‘After Mr Ming,’ Sun says, as the machine hums to life.

‘But how are you, Mrs Sing?’ Penny asks. ‘You look very well.’

‘I look like shit. Where’s that tea?’ she asks over her shoulder, switching to Mandarin. ‘I don’t want to be here all day.’ She looks back at Penny and switches to English. ‘We’ve had to lay staff off, so Sun and I are doing more hands-on work in the store,’ she adds as Sun rushes over with three beakers clasped in her hands.

‘It’s just cheap synth shit,’ Sun says in English. ‘Go back to Mr Ming if you want nice tea.’

‘This’ll be fine,’ Yasmine says.

‘Gee, thanks,’ Sun says, offering a withering smile before heading back into the store.

Yasmine holds off taking her beaker for a few seconds as Yola blasts air and shuffles forward on her seat to grab her own drink. ‘It’s not that bad.’

‘No, I thought . . .’

‘How’s Abdul? Did you get my messages? I tried calling you about the shipments. We’re either getting the wrong stock or half of it missing. And we’re getting sent older crap too. I’m losing trade. Did you tell him?’

‘We’re certainly doing everything we can on that front. It’s the same for everyone trading with the Beijing sadly.’

‘We’re not getting the stock we ordered. I’ve been sent five boxes of Cum-a-Lot-More. Who can sell five boxes of Cum-a-Lot-More?’

‘I know someone,’ Yasmine says.

‘But we didn’t order them, and they won’t take them back. And I’m being charged for them. How can I get charged for something I didn’t order? We’ll be out of business within a few months at this rate. But Abdul’s doing okay, though. I keep seeing him on the news going on about the Elfors. Maybe he needs to focus on his customers a bit more.’

‘What’s that?’ Sun asks, walking back in.

‘The Elfors. I was saying that Abdul’s always on the news talking about it.’

‘Sick of hearing it,’ Sun says. ‘Flush them out or let them go free. Whatever. Whole fleet is getting fed up of it.’

‘There’s thousands of people down there,’ Yasmine says.

‘So? You think the Humility’s the only one with a bad area? Every ship has them. We’ve got the Hutongs, but the difference is we didn’t lock ours up and ignore them.’ Sun stops halfway across the room and frowns. ‘Forgot what I came in for now . . . fuck it!’

‘I do that all the time,’ Yasmine says.

‘Sure,’ Sun says, giving her a look of mock sincerity.

‘What’s your problem?’ Yasmine asks, bridling at the look and tone.

‘My problem is we’re going under while you’re walking in here looking like that and rubbing our noses in it.’

‘Looking like what?’

‘Like that! Showing your belly off and being all look at me I’m so fucking pretty.’

‘Okay! Time to go,’ Penny says, getting to her feet.

‘Yeah, you might need another outfit for later . . .’

‘You want to lose that attitude, princess,’ Yasmine says.

‘Princess? I’m not the one in the fancy suit! Go flash your tits off somewhere else.’

‘Yassy! Enough, we’re going,’ Penny says, pushing Yasmine out into the shop to another heated argument taking place.

‘It doesn’t work!’ a man yells in accented English, slamming a blister packet of pills on the counter.

‘I’m sorry!’ Lee the assistant yelps with his hands in the air. ‘We just sell it.’

‘You said this would help!’

‘Flash my tits off? Did you hear that?’ Yasmine asks.

‘Just go,’ Penny says, bumping into Yasmine when she comes to a stop. ‘Yassy, just go!’

‘I can’t,’ Yasmine snaps.

‘You need to fuck off,’ Sun shouts, marching out of the office behind them.

‘We can’t!’ Yasmine shouts, pointing at the angry guy blocking the counter hatch.

‘I can give you a refund,’ Lee says.

‘I don’t want a refund. I want my daughter to stop screaming my cabin down.’

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Penny calls over Yasmine’s shoulder. ‘If you’d just move a step over?’

‘She’s in agony. Agony! She’s hasn’t stopped crying. You said these would help. THEY’RE NOT HELPING!’

‘Lee, just give him his credits back,’ Yola says.

‘I DON’T WANT MY CREDITS BACK! I want my daughter to stop crying.’

‘Well maybe if you stopped shouting, she’d stop crying!’ Yasmine yells.

‘DO NOT TALK TO MY CUSTOMERS,’ Sun shouts. ‘AND YOU, STOP SHOUTING!’ she yells at the customer.

‘Sell them the right meds then!’ Yasmine says.

‘Dear god!’ Penny snaps. ‘Sir, you need to move over so we can get out.’

‘How about you make my daughter stop crying first!’

‘Fuck me. Good store, this one,’ Yasmine mutters, reaching out to snatch the pills from his hand. ‘What’s up with her?’

‘Don’t answer that bitch!’ Sun yells. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘I don’t know! She’s in pain and crying.’

‘How old is she?’ Yasmine and Sun both ask at the same time while glaring daggers at each other.

‘Thirteen. She’s clutching her belly all the time and saying Dad, Dad! It hurts . . . it’s all swollen . . . I don’t know what to do!’

‘She’s having her period, you idiot!’ Sun yells, turning away to a shelf.

‘She needs Femifade,’ Yasmine says.

‘I KNOW!’ Sun yells, already throwing a box of Femifade at the man.

‘She needs to take two of those with food before sleep,’ Yasmine says.

‘STOP ADVISING MY CUSTOMERS!’ Sun shouts. ‘And make sure she takes two with food before she sleeps.’

‘Can we just go now?’ Penny says, offering another apologetic look to Yola.

‘Fine. Thank you,’ the man says, side-stepping enough for Yasmine to get out under the counter. ‘With food before sleep. And she’ll stop crying, right?’

‘Oh god no, she won’t stop crying until she’s eighteen,’ Yasmine says.

‘What?!’

‘She’s joking,’ Penny says, popping up after getting under the counter.

‘She’s not joking,’ Sun says, ‘But she’s still a fucking bitch.’

‘My daughter’s not a bitch!’

‘Her. Not your daughter,’ Sun shouts, pointing at Yasmine.

‘FUCK OFF!’ Yasmine yells, walking backwards while sticking both her middle fingers up.

‘FUCK YOU!’ Sun yells, sticking her own two middle fingers up.

‘If she gets really bad give her a dose of Calm-a-Mind,’ Yasmine yells.

‘STOP ADVISING MY CUSTOMERS!’

‘Will that actually work?’ the man asks.

‘YES!’ Every woman in the store answers at the same time.

‘What the actual fuck?’ Penny says again, as they bundle out into the walkway.

‘Cheeky bitch. Did you hear her? Did you actually hear her?’

‘Yes! I was right there with both of you like this far from my ears . . .’ Penny says as Sun rushes out from the store.

‘Hey, Yasmine is it?’ Sun asks, holding her hands up. ‘That got a bit heated. But listen, there’s a club at the back of Confucius Square . . . they’re always looking for more belly dancers—’

‘FUCK YOU!’ Yasmine yells.

‘FUCK OFF!’ Sun shouts.

10

Monday

The Beijing

‘She started it!’ Yasmine says.

‘It doesn’t matter who started it, the fact is you bit,’ Penny replies, as they push through the packed lanes of the industrial section. ‘This is business, Yassy. These are customers.’

‘. . . And saying the starving people in the lower four who are already denied education, healthcare and security are diseased rats and scum is completely unacceptable . . .’

Penny comes to a stop with Yasmine almost running into her as they stare over at a holo news feed of Abdul being interviewed by Kristi Carter with a backdrop of protestors blocking the main stairwell on Level 30. Glowing holo placards and signs above them flashing in bright colours:

no more Excuses! hard border Now!

Protect our Children!

‘Councillor Shariff. The murderers were able to come up from the Elfors, commit these atrocities, then simply go back down. What stops them doing it again?’

‘It was an isolated incident! They don’t deserve that, and taking Neon City out of the Elfors is only making people down there very scared.’

‘Scared enough to riot? Scared enough to rush the stairs?’

‘If you tell thousands of people that you’re going to take away their main source of income by moving Neon City then of course it will have a reaction. We need debate and dialogue. Not protestors blocking the main stairwell again.’

‘Shit,’ Penny says quietly. ‘This isn’t good,’ she adds before setting off again. ‘This isn’t good at all.’

‘Ignore it,’ Yasmine says. ‘They do it every year or two. Always blows over once people realise they won’t be able to get high or laid.’

‘No, that’s the problem. Dom Patel wants to move Neon City to Level 30.’

Yasmine shrugs, ‘They’ve been saying that for years too, but unless you register a whole bunch of hookers and dealers to work up there it’ll be empty.’

‘It won’t be empty; it will be sanitised. If they take Neon City, then the Elfors has no income. And they haven’t had people like Jean Schreiber campaigning before,’ Penny says, as an incoming call chirrups on her wristband and Fast Hands Ferdy blooms up. The owner of the Hocus Pocus nightclub, one of the higher-end establishments on the main strip.

‘Penny! What the hell is going on? I can’t get hold of Abdul. The main stairwell’s blocked!’

‘He’s up top doing interviews, Ferdy. He’s on it. I promise you. But they haven’t imposed a hard border – it’s still open.’

‘No! It’s blocked from the protest, and they won’t open the other three stairwells back up after the other night. It’s going to put the punters off!’

Penny blanches in surprise, only now realising the full implications: that with the other three stairwells closed off there’s only one way in and out of the lower four. ‘Leave it with me, Ferdy. I’m on the Beijing but I’ll get back to you. And don’t worry. We’ll find a workaround.’

‘Hey, Ferdy,’ Yassy says, leaning in.

‘Hey, Yassy . . . what the fuck! Why are you with Penny?’

‘She kidnapped me. Send help.’

‘She’s working for Abdul now,’ Penny says.

‘Jesus, I hope he’s locked his valuables up.’

‘Oi, I resemble that remark,’ Yasmine says, flicking a middle finger up as Ferdy laughs. ‘But listen, get word out for a sideways drop. Tell the punters to ignore the main stairwell and go down the others, then along to 37.’

‘Sideways drop! Genius, Yassy! Thank you. Free drink on me for both of you next time you’re down.’

One call ends. Another call comes in. A woman from Level 38 – where most employed Elforists live.

‘Penny. I’m sorry to call, but my husband can’t get through the guard station to work. His boss called him and said he’ll be sacked if he doesn’t turn up . . . Is that Yassy?’ she asks in surprise, leaning in closer.

‘Hey, Lonny,’ Yasmine says, lifting a hand.

‘She’s working for Abdul now,’ Penny adds.

‘You’re working for Abdul? Can you get my Dil through, Yassy?’

‘What does he do?’ Penny asks.

‘You know Dilbert the Cleaner,’ Yasmine says. ‘He does all the offices on 25.’

‘He holoed me and said the guards aren’t letting anyone up, but he’s registered. He should be allowed through,’ Lonny says. ‘If he loses that job we’ll be back down on 40 with my mom. We’ve got kids, Penny. I’m not taking them down to 40. I’m not!’

‘Tell Dil to promise them they’ll go sideways,’ Yasmine says.

‘They can’t! The guards won’t listen! Dil and Erik The Rolls both promised to go up quietly on a sideways. You’ve got to get them through.’

‘Lonny. Abdul is working on it. We’re doing everything we can. Leave it with us,’ Penny says, cutting the call as Yasmine blows air through her cheeks.

‘Jesus. Poor woman. Fucking stair guards are putas. See if Faiza’s on duty. She’s sound. She’ll get him through. Oh hang on, I can call her . . . er . . . how do you find someone on this?’ she asks, opening her interface.

‘We work for Abdul, Yassy. Everything we do reflects on him. If we sneak people up, then it’s Abdul sneaking people up. Shit. I knew this would blow up. You know why this is happening, don’t you?’

‘Er, because of the murders and robbery?’

‘Nope. This is because the election’s coming up and Jean’s going to seize on everyone’s fear of the Elfors to try and outdo Abdul.’

‘Why bother? Helga’s going to win. Everyone knows that.’

‘And who’s going to be vice-captain?’

‘Oh, I see! This Jean guy’s hustling to be vice-captain then?’

‘Exactly. Hang on. Let me get hold of Abdul,’ Penny says, accessing her system with a frustrated tut. ‘I can’t reach him. Okay. We’ll keep going and get Mr Chan done.’

They visit a lovely old man running a low-end clothing store with work uniforms hanging from rails and a few pairs of safety boots on display alongside harnesses and tool-belts for maintenance crews. But the gaps are obvious. The stock depleted and not re-filled. The same issues explained by the store owner.

The same in the next store as the pattern is repeated. Wrong items being delivered. Missing stock. No returns. Nobody on the Ark supply system wants to know. They messaged Penny but never got a response.

‘We lost a shipment in transit,’ Liqin Hong says in the next store. ‘But we still had to pay for it . . . How is that fair?’

‘How do you lose a shipment?’ Yasmine asks, but there’s no answer to give. Only a sincere promise from Penny that ‘Abdul will do everything he can to address your concerns’. Yasmine loses count of how many times she hears Penny saying that.

Sam and Clara work hard too, back in the hotel room on the sofa under a bank of screens as they filter and stack posts and reports mentioning the Elfors and Abdul Shariff.

Anti-Elfors on one side. Pro-Elfor on the other.

Lots of anti. Not many pro.

11

Monday Afternoon

The Humility

‘The viewing figures are incredible. We haven’t had figures like this since the shuttle crash,’ Kasim says. A conference call underway in an eatery bordering the main stairwell. Kristi nods and glances outside at the protesters. ‘Are you listening, Kristi?’

‘Yeah I’m listening,’ she says, turning back to the conference call with Kasim the studio manager and Teddy Fox.

‘Okay, this is the play,’ Kasim says. ‘Kristi, you stay on it and get us more interviews.’

‘Do some idiot locals, Kristi,’ Teddy says, nodding at her.

‘I know my job, Teddy.’

‘Get Rona to wind them up before they go on air,’ Teddy says. ‘We used to do that all the time. Old trick. Gee ’em up then let ’em rip.’

‘I said I know my job. Listen, Kasim, have you got anyone else?’

‘I’m not following,’ Kasim says, as distracted as ever. ‘Got anyone else for what? Be specific.’

‘This. To cover this. Have you got anyone else?’

‘You want a replacement? You broke the story, and we haven’t seen figures like this since the shuttle crash. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you even ask that?’

‘Credits,’ Teddy cuts in with a cynical sneer. ‘She wants more credits.’

‘Is it money? Are you negotiating with me right now, Kristi?’

‘No! I just . . . I’ve been on this ship a lot. You know.’

‘It’s where the fucking news is! Fuck me. Tell you what, Kristi. You can go back to educational podcasts if you want. Or, hey, we’ve got a story on the Mumbai about a racket to increase cabin rents. How about that? That’s a breaking story. Or you can cover the Scandinavians moaning about Nordic Masterchef Sven Carlson not actually being fucking Nordic. Do you want that one instead? Oh, here’s one. Pretty Boy the hacker apparently entered the sacred temple onboard the Beijing and had a giant glowing figure tell everyone to suck some dick in protest about suicide booths.’

‘Okay. No. It’s fine,’ Kristi says weakly.

‘You’re on top of the biggest story in the fleet. You need to stay on it.’

‘I know. I know. I will. I am. I’m on it. I’m just tired.’

‘I don’t care. Drink some coffee. Your job is to get interviews and be in the middle of it all while making every teenage boy and middle-aged man get a hard-on.’

‘Jesus,’ Kristi says, pulling back in distaste.

‘Sex sells, Kristi. Men want to fuck you. Women want to fuck Teddy. Nobody wants to fuck me. It’s life. Just cover the fucking story and you two – you two better smile and be nice on air. You’re co-hosts. You’re best buddies. Are we clear?’

He cuts the call, leaving Teddy and Kristi sticking middle fingers up at each other before they swipe their feeds off and she sits back again. Sighing once more. Furious. Annoyed. Hurt, too. She liked Zhang. She really liked him, and she remembers the intensity when he made love to her. Like she was the single most important person in the whole fleet. Like he’d never love anyone else the way he was loving her.

She also wants to know why Mahatma blackmailed Randolph. Something about it all just doesn’t sit right, but she’s scared of getting exposed for sleeping with Zhang.

‘Hey, you good?’ Rona asks, her assistant and camera operator, sliding breathlessly into the seat opposite her. ‘You good?’

‘Not really.’

‘Anyway,’ Rona says, not giving a shit if Kristi is good or not. ‘Let’s eat. I’m hungry. You hungry? I’m hungry.’

‘I could eat,’ Kristi says, without much enthusiasm, as she watches a bowl of synth noodles being carried past to a waiting table. ‘Hey. You know what I fancy?’

‘What?’ Rona asks, looking up from the holo menu.

‘Porridge.’

* * *

‘Just the two of you?’ Janey asks a few minutes later, as she rushes over to the customers waiting to be seated. ‘Oh my god. Kristi Carter!’

‘Hi! Hey. Yes. We just want to grab a quick bite, if that’s okay?’ Kristi says.

‘Like totally. I’m all star-struck! I saw you the other night, but I didn’t get a chance to say hello.’

‘What other night?’

‘The party. I saw you but . . .’

‘Oh right. Yes. Sorry. Were you here? I didn’t see you.’

‘Yes. I was,’ Janey says, with that frozen smile.

‘I saw the other girl. The really pretty one. Dark hair? Nice teeth? Killer body.’

‘Penny?’

‘No, I know Penny. I mean the other one. The really attractive one. I think she was with Pretty Boy? Is she not here anymore?’ Kristi asks, following Janey along the walkway trying to find space for them.

‘Nope.’

‘There’s Kristi,’ Colin says, making Abdul turn from their table at the end.

‘Kristi. We’ve got space. Join us,’ Abdul calls out.

‘You sure? Thank you. Sit down, guys. You know Rona. So, the waitress was just telling me the hot girl’s left.’

‘Janey, bring two more bowls of porridge and jam, and another round of coffees,’ Abdul says.

‘You seem familiar here,’ Kristi remarks, sitting down as the men shuffle chairs over to make room.

‘Mr Abdul is buying the café,’ Janey says. ‘But, like, Sven and I are running it. We’re really going to try and home in on his Nordic roots and develop a traditional menu.’

‘Honey,’ Rona cuts in. ‘We’re on air in like twenty minutes. Can we grab that food?’

‘Okay,’ Kristi says into the silence that follows Janey’s departure. ‘So, yeah, the woman. What’s her name?’

‘Janey,’ Colin says.

‘No, the other woman. The attractive one that was here for the party.’

‘Here we are! Two porridges and lots of coffees,’ Janey says, sliding a tray onto the table.

‘That was quick,’ Rona says.

‘It was meant for another table, but I pushed you up the queue – you know, any friends of Mr Abdul are friends of Nordic Masterchef Sven Carlson and Janey. That’s me by the way. Janey Harrington. And, you know, the police never confirmed it, but I think I was the last person to speak with Matty. That’s what her friends called her. But we clashed sometimes. Can’t always get on with work buddies! Eh, fellas?’

A change in energy as Abdul and his team stir in their seats while Kristi listens intently, seeing the shared glances between them.

‘Janey!’ Sven shouts over, flapping his hands out to show he needs her.

‘You need to go,’ Abdul says.

‘We’ll catch up,’ Janey says, motioning to Kristi. ‘Have a chat over coffee.’

‘Interesting girl,’ Kristi says into the new silence that follows. ‘But, say, the girl then. The pretty one.’

‘Which one was that?’ Abdul asks. ‘Try the porridge.’

‘She was in the fight at the stairwell with Pretty Boy. The Elfor gang were attacking them when we all arrived. She works for you?’

‘Her name is Yasmine. She works with Penny.’

‘Why haven’t I seen her? Everyone knows Penny.’

‘Kristi.’

‘I’m a reporter! I ask questions.’

‘I’m a politician. I don’t answer them. Listen. Give me a break, huh? Yasmine is with Pretty Boy, but you know he’s a hacker so I’m not going to spill anything about him. You agreed to that when you got the interview, so don’t ask. Enjoy the food and let’s talk about Teddy Fox.’

‘Okay. I get it. That’s all you needed to say,’ Kristi says, holding her hands up. ‘And Teddy Fox is a prick,’ she adds as the others laugh. ‘Hey, one more question.’

‘Kristi,’ Abdul groans.

‘No, it’s fine. I’m not asking as a reporter. That detective. The one who was there that night. Is he okay? We heard he got suspended. Is that true? No, hang on. I’m just checking on him. That’s all.’

‘I think he’s fine now,’ Colin says, after sharing a look with Abdul. ‘I heard he’s okay.’

‘You heard that through your cop buddies, Colin?’

‘Something like that, Kristi. Rona, drown your reporter out and talk to me,’ Colin says.

‘One more question,’ Kristi says, as even Rona groans. ‘What’s the Elfor word on this Dmitri guy? What? It’s a natural question. I was there with you guys. I saw the body. I’m engaged on a personal level.’

‘No word from him,’ Abdul says. ‘The Elfors are a very big place and we’ve not had any dealings or heard anything. Official statement. Happy?’

They make small talk, with Abdul explaining he’s helping finance the café as it’s a good location and a natural progression for his business interests while wondering where the hell Dmitri is hiding and how long he’ll stay down for.

‘Makes sense,’ Kristi says as she finishes her bowl. ‘We’d better get back. Where do we pay? In the café?’ She heads inside the café to see Janey and Sven engaged in a hushed conversation. ‘Say, okay to pay in here?’

‘Hi! Kristi. Yes. In here is fine, but er, hey, you know what, on the house,’ Janey says, waving her away.

‘Hey, thank you, but I have to pay. We have a code of conduct on that stuff. Plus, I totally claim it back on expenses. So you guys knew Mahatma?’

‘Nope,’ Sven says.

‘Absolutely,’ Janey says at the same time.

‘And she was here for the party? Man, I don’t even remember seeing her. She must have been in and out, huh?’

‘No, she was here all night,’ Janey says.

‘But we didn’t keep tabs on her,’ Sven adds quickly.

‘Sure. But what a tragedy. I mean. Murdered in her cabin. It’s so awful. Are you okay, Janey? You guys worked together. You must be in shock.’

‘Really shocked. Like. Just, really shocked.’

‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

‘Hey. I’m okay. Coping. And you know, life goes on,’ Janey says, walking to the door with Kristi.

‘Sure. But what a thing. And such a beautiful young woman, too.’

‘Well. Yeah. She was pretty I guess,’ Janey says with a touch of something that Kristi detects instantly.

‘Hmmm, well, I always found the pretty girls can be total bitches,’ Kristi says quietly. ‘Was Matty like that? I saw her pictures and thought she had her nose in the air. You know, like when people think their shit doesn’t stink.’

‘God yes. She was a total bitch.’

‘Knew it. Always the way when someone dies. They turn them into saints.’

‘Oh, don’t! Everyone is like oh poor Matty. She was so special. She was such a bitch! Made my life hell. I wouldn’t wish her dead, but all this shit about her being amazing and so kind and so nice, no way. And, she was thick too. I mean really unintelligent. She only got promoted by opening her legs.’

‘I gotta go, Janey,’ Kristi says, blinking at the bitter tirade. ‘But say, between me and you, gun to the head, who’s the bad guy in this? Randolph abusing his position and seducing Matty, or Matty blackmailing him to steal from the Finance offices?’

Janey falters, her manner changing abruptly. ‘No idea. Honestly. I’d better . . . the tables need clearing and . . .’ She rushes off, Kristi staring after her with that same nag inside. That there is something else going on.

12

Monday

The Elfors

The alley used to be the single most dangerous place in all of Neon City. A long winding walkway running at the back of the clubs, where punters were lured with promises of cheap carnal delight, only to be rolled and robbed. Often beaten. Sometimes killed.

But Neon City has changed and the alley has become a place for discreet meetings, away from prying eyes and listening ears. A place where deals get made and whispers are shared, and a place Karen steps out of with Chatty Simon after Karen took a call from the quiet man. Audio only. No video.

He said he knew who she was and he wanted to meet because chaos creates opportunities, and perhaps now is the time for that situation to be exploited. Karen agreed and slipped into the alley to see a man of very average appearance waiting for them.

‘Why are you talking to me and not Dmitri?’ Karen asked while Simon towered over him in a way that makes most men wilt, but the quiet man showed no fear. ‘Why not Dmitri?’ she added.

‘And where is Dmitri?’ the quiet man asked, in a way that implied a whole lot more than he was saying. Karen shared a look with Simon. The guy was right. Dmitri had been out of it since they ran back down on Friday night. A three-day bender of booze, narcotics and lashing out at anyone in his path.

That’s what happens when Dmitri comes into contact with Yasmine. He loses control and self-destructs. Nothing triggers his rage like Yassy. But this was different. They knew where the code was, and although they had no clue what it was for, they knew Helga wanted it. They had the power to barter and negotiate and score big. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Dmitri, however, was too much of a self-obsessed stupid prick to do anything about it.

That also meant it was left to Karen and Simon to do the rounds and run the business. Collecting creds from the businesses and hookers they controlled.

Karen had seen the news about a girl called Mahatma butchered in her cabin and how it was made to look like they did it. She also felt the growing vibe in the air from Elforists unable to get up the stairwells to work. People were glaring openly at her and Simon now. Not the people on their payroll or those within their sordid business, but everyone else. The hard workers from Level 38 where the employed and decent Elforists lived. The mothers and fathers with kids to feed. The people hurting because of the murders and robbery carried out by Dmitri, which were now making them all suffer.

The Elfors are changing. The quiet man said that. He said a lot more too, which made then both listen very carefully, before he gave them a set of instructions.

Now they exit the alley and head back through the strip towards the stairwell and the security station platform, filled with those frustrated and angry people.

‘I SAID I’M GOING UP!’ a huge voice roars out from the platform. ‘I’VE GOT WORK . . .’

‘Someone sounds happy,’ Karen says, pushing through the crowd to see Dilbert The Cleaner towering over Faiza.

‘Dil. I’m sorry . . . I can’t let you through,’ Faiza says, holding her ground.

‘I’VE GOT WORK!’ he roars, while the others edge in as a precursor to charging through.

‘Dil!’ a voice urges, grabbing his arm as others pull him around. He spots Karen and Simon and, for a second, he looks ready to say something. To tell them this is their fault, but the fear for his family’s safety takes the heat from his eyes and he swallows his rage and lets the others pull him away.

‘This is on you, Karen,’ Faiza says. ‘You did this . . .’

Karen snorts a laugh. Shaking her head. ‘Faiza’s more Elforist than we are,’ she says, turning to the crowd. ‘Don’t scream at the guards. They’re just doing their jobs.’

She heads out with Simon as the crowd peels back. Every man and woman knowing this was caused by them, but unable and unwilling to do or say anything.

They take the stairs and head down to Level 40, the bowels of the ship, to a large unit in the middle of the vast shanty town. Karen goes in with Simon close behind her. Guphy Gupherson fast asleep in a big chair. His head, lolling to one side, jerks up when Karen kicks his feet.

‘Was awake,’ he rumbles, blinking up at her.

‘He still out of it?’ she asks.

Guphy nods to a curtain leading off to another room.

‘Ken?’ she asks.

‘Here,’ Mad Eyes Ken says, shuffling out from the back while tugging his trousers up.

‘That’s a shame. I hoped you’d OD’d,’ Karen says as he flicks a middle finger while blinking at the green wizard giving him evils from across the room.

A rustle from another room. A curtain pulls back and Dmitri peers out. A naked woman behind him sitting on the floor, her face busted up and bruises all over her body. Either dead or high. Another naked pair of legs hang from the end of the bed, rope marks on her ankles.

Dmitri grabs a bottle of Elfor Juice from the table and takes a swig. A big man. Muscled and fierce-looking, with old scars covering his body in amongst the Elfor tattoos of stick-men and symbols shining under the UV light.

‘There’s a protest,’ Karen says into the silence. Guphy dozes back off. Ken blinks at the wizard and Dmitri slowly turns to look at her. Bleary-eyed and unbothered. ‘They’ve blocked the main stairwell off and closed the other three. Nobody can go up and Jean Schreiber is campaigning to seal us off.’

‘Who?’ Dmitri asks.

‘Jean Schreiber. He’s a councillor. He wants to move Neon and shut us down. It’s all over the news. Kristi Carter is—’

‘I’d fuck Kristi Carter,’ Ken says, still staring at the wizard. ‘Do you think she takes it in the ass?’

‘Definitely,’ Dmitri says. ‘What day is it?’

‘Why?’ Ken asks. ‘Does she have an anal sex day?’

‘It’s Monday,’ Karen says with forced patience. ‘You’ve been out of it since Friday. Listen, Dmitri. They think we murdered two people.’

‘We did,’ Dmitri says.

‘No. We killed the guy in the Finance offices. They’re saying we killed a woman called Mahatma. They’re using it to shut the Elfors down.’

‘Does she take in the ass?’

‘Ken! This is serious. The woman was butchered. Literally hacked apart.’

Dmitri scowls and looks at Ken.

‘I didn’t do it,’ Ken says defensively. ‘Did I?’

‘No, you didn’t, but it’s being made to look like we did,’ Karen says.

Ken blinks. ‘You sure I didn’t? It does sound like me. Maybe I slipped away. Eh? Thought about that, Big Feet? Maybe I slipped away and saw this lady woman and murdered her to death. Was she bitten? I normally bite people.’

‘You didn’t kill her.’

‘All I’m saying is that it’s possible. You’ve got to open your mind, Karen.’

Karen bites the frustration down and steals a look at Simon. ‘Dmitri, listen. I’ve been approached by a guy. He said he’s willing to help us if we get that code back for him.’

She clocks the look on Dmitri’s face. He isn’t blessed with brains, and certainly not when he’s just woken up from a three-day bender, but he’s cunning and full of guile. ‘Why didn’t he speak to me?’

‘You’ve been on a bender since Friday,’ she says, holding her hands out. ‘Nobody could talk to you. You nearly a beat a guy to death for walking into you on the strip on Saturday. Do you even remember it?’

‘Yeah,’ he snorts, with no idea what she’s on about.

‘Okay, listen. The point is, he said he couldn’t reach you, so he came to me. He wants that code back and he’s offering a good deal. He told me how we can get registered so we can get it . . . and then I had another idea.’ She pauses again, sharing another look with Simon. ‘Dmitri, Yassy’s gone to the Beijing . . . she’s working for Abdul now . . .’ Dmitri’s face hardens at the mention of Yasmine’s name, his aura darkening. Which is what Karen hoped for. ‘And she’s got this code, right? This guy I met works for the people who want it back, so it must be something big. I say we go over to the Beijing and ram our fists so far down Yassy’s throat the code comes out of her backside.’

‘Yassy doesn’t take it in the ass,’ Ken says knowingly. ‘Guy I know used to fuck her. Said she was—’ Ken cuts off as he’s launched across the room.

‘That was me, you fucking puta!’ Dmitri shouts. ‘I fucked her. ME! No one else. ME.’

‘Yeah, yeah, got it. You fucked her. Sorry, Dmitri,’ Ken says, trying to stand up. ‘Sorry. I’m wasted, yeah. Fucking wizards everywhere.’

‘And what the fuck are you on about?’ Dmitri snarls, turning on Karen. ‘How the fuck are we getting anywhere? We’re wanted for murder.’

‘I can get us on a shuttle. I can get you to Yassy,’ Karen says, feeding his burning hatred. ‘You and her. Away from here. No cops. No anyone. You get Yassy. We get the code and we score big. The guy told me how to do it. He gave me instructions and even said he’ll pay our expenses. Think about it, Dmitri.’

Dmitri swallows, not giving a shit about the code. Thinking only of Yassy screaming in fear at Pretty Boy being hurt. A burning anger inside that couldn’t be vented so he drank booze, took drugs and beat hookers instead.

‘Get it done,’ he orders, breathing hard at the thought of Yasmine fucking someone else. Nobody would go near her in the Elfors. They wouldn’t dare. But she’s not in the Elfors. ‘How soon?’ he asks.

‘Few days. He said we need to do some other stuff first . . .’

‘Whatever. Make it happen . . . Guphy! Wake up you fat prick and get rid of those girls. I think one of them’s dead.’

13

Monday Evening

The Elfors

One circus ends and another begins as Abdul finally gets into the elevator and away from the chaos on Level 30, only to step out into the chaos of the guard station on Level 37.

‘Faiz, you know me . . . I’m good. I never argue,’ Erik The Rolls says as every guard looks over, wishing they could let him through because Erik cooks synth rolls and brings them leftovers. ‘I didn’t work yesterday or Saturday. They’ll sack me . . . Abdul!’ he calls out, and the clamour increases tenfold as a fresh surge of people starts, all trying to get to Abdul.

‘It’s not my decision,’ Abdul says. ‘The police won’t open it up while the protest is going on.’

‘We’ll go sideways,’ Erik says, meaning to slip up a level on the main stairwell then along to the other stairs.

‘Come on yeah, we’ll be quiet yeah,’ Stella Yeah Yeah says, small and thin with worry etched on her face. ‘I need to feed my kids.’

‘Boss,’ Colin says, pressing in close to be heard. ‘Penny’s calling me. She can’t get through to you.’

‘See what she wants.’

Colin nods and slips to the back as Penny frowns into the holo feed. ‘Where are you?’

Colin turns the view, opening it out for Penny and Yasmine to see the chaos of the guard station, packed with Elforists begging to be let through for work.

‘The fleet needs to see this,’ Penny says. ‘Colin, is Kristi still on Level 30? She needs to film that. Tell Abdul to make sure LinLin Laundry, Stella and Erik The Rolls get interviewed.’

* * *

‘Wow,’ Yasmine says when the call cuts off. ‘Politics eh?’

‘Tell me about it. Actually, do you know what? I’ve had enough for today. Let’s go home.’

‘To the Humility?’ Yasmine asks with a flash of sudden hope.

‘No! The hotel.’

A long walk back through the busy lanes until they hit a stairwell and head up to the main retail zone, both of them balking at how packed it is.

‘New Year on Friday,’ Penny says, turning over her shoulder to Yasmine behind her.

‘You’re saying it like it means something.’

‘Abdul’s expected over here to host an event. He does it every year.’

‘Just serve them some porridge and jam,’ Yasmine jokes.

Penny stops dead, then turns back to plant a kiss on Yasmine’s forehead. ‘I knew I loved you,’ she says before walking on. ‘That’s one less thing to worry about.’

‘Penny. That was a joke.’

‘It’s a brilliant idea. Remind me to holo Sven and Janey about it. Actually, do you fancy doing it?’

‘God, no! Janey hates me.’

‘Ice-breaker,’ Penny calls as they fight through the tourists.

‘She’d break me if she could,’ Yasmine mutters, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut while also wishing she’d kept her sticky fingers to herself and not stolen that code.

They grab cartons of synth noodles and grilled rat from a vendor, and eventually reach the hotel and head up to Sam and Clara on the sofa with multiple screens open in front of them. Abdul’s holo form at one end of the room, his team arriving back to his offices in Neon City with take out from Sticky Dicky’s hot food stall on the strip.

‘Okay. So where are we at? Bring me up to speed,’ Penny says, tugging her mesh jacket off.

‘I’ll tell you where we’re at,’ Abdul says. ‘Fucking Jean Schreiber’s whipping everyone up and the fucking stair guards aren’t letting anyone past, which means I’ve got a fucking queue of angry people a mile long outside my fucking office . . . Are you even listening?’ he snaps, as Penny turns to the drink machine.

‘I’ll do it,’ Yasmine says, finally putting the one skill in life she learned from Sven’s café to good use as she sets about making drinks.

‘Did you get Kristi down?’ Penny asks.

‘She’s there now,’ Colin says. ‘Brilliant idea, Penny.’

‘Thanks, Col,’ she says, swiping her interface to send yet another holo feed into the room that pops up with a life-size Kristi Carter.

‘. . . I make synth rolls. I’ve been doing it for years,’ Erik the Rolls says. ‘But I’ll lose my job if I don’t get up. It’s been three days now . . .’

‘Oh, he’s good,’ Penny says, nodding at the earnest way Erik talks.

‘Erik, can I ask you a question?’ Kristi asks. ‘If you’re registered, why do you choose to live in the Elfors?’

‘It’s my home, Miss. I was born here, and my two live on our row with their kids. My boy’s a bar manager and my girl trains dancers and my wife. She takes the grandkids to that free school Abdul set up every morning cos they work late . . .’

‘BOOM!’ Penny shouts, punching the air. ‘Fuck you, Jean Schreiber. Fucking fuckheaded fucking puta! Pick a fight with a fucking Elforist and see what happens.’

‘Long day,’ Yasmine mouths at the others.

‘Hi, who are you?’ Kristi asks, moving to the next person. LinLin Laundry is next to Stella Yeah. ‘Do you mind giving your name?’

‘It’s Stella yeah. I just clean the toilets, like the public ones but . . . I got to work yeah. My kids . . .’

‘We all just want to work,’ Dilbert The Cleaner says, looming over LinLin and Stella as others add voices in agreement. ‘We don’t want trouble. Whatever’s going on . . . that’s . . . that’s nothing to do with us . . .’

‘I could kiss him,’ Penny says.

‘He had a hissy fit earlier,’ Abdul says. ‘Faiza told me he was bubbling up to go for it when Big Feet stepped in.’

‘Dilbert wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ Yasmine says. ‘He’s soft as anything.’

‘Why the hell is Karen stepping in?’ Penny asks, glancing at Yasmine who shrugs and eats a skewered rat.

‘Folks. I’ve got to say. This is not what I was expecting at all. These are registered professionals unable to get to their jobs. This is the real fallout from the politics brought forward by Jean Schreiber and Abdul Shariff. Teddy, back to you . . .’

‘Okay. So on the whole. That was good,’ Penny says, muting the feed. ‘But the jibe at Abdul was cuntish.’

‘Penny,’ Abdul says, with a tut at her language.

‘Anyway. What’s all that?’ Penny asks, looking at the banks of reports stacked above Clara and Sam. ‘Talk me through it, Sam. Give me the satellite view.’

‘What the what now?’ Sam asks Penny.

‘The overview. The breakdown. Those,’ she says, pointing at the reports stacked up. ‘What are they?’

‘Oh. Er, those ones are all the reports and posts and feeds that are pro-Elfor.’

‘And the other side are the bad ones,’ Clara adds to an awkward silence as everyone looks up to see lots of anti and not many pro.

‘Over 65% posts on the net are anti-Elfor,’ Sam continues. ‘But that 65% are all the same. I mean, the same older age-range. The people not joining in are younger people who are busy at work or enjoying themselves.’

Clara cuts in. ‘What you need to do is let Pretty Boy loose to work his magic, so it’s not just those grumpy-assed old folk engaging online.’

‘How?’ Abdul asks.

‘Bots,’ Penny says. ‘It’s what Sam did for the porridge party. Sam generated fake accounts that all shared Sven’s Eatery. They all linked into real accounts and added a positive spin with set phrases which helped push it into a trend.’

‘That’s election fraud,’ Colin calls out, covering his mouth while eating a synth roll.

Abdul nods, looking about at everyone. ‘Do you think I give a fuck about election fraud? We’re Elforists. Moving on. Sam, see what you can do. I can’t task you because I don’t understand it enough.’

‘I’ve got it,’ Penny says. ‘Okay. Right. Next thing is getting the block lifted. And if we get this right then Abdul looks good and scores big in the elections. And scoring big is in our blood, just ask Yassy . . .’

A few laughs sound out as Yasmine looks at Penny, seeing a woman at the top of her game. Abdul might be the figurehead, but it’s Penny driving the ship.

‘Okay,’ Penny calls. ‘Priority number one. Get people up to work. We need solutions.’

‘They won’t let anyone up while that protest is underway,’ Colin says. ‘Jorgey will be too scared of reprisal attacks.’

‘Erik The Rolls won’t attack anyone,’ Yasmine says.

‘No, but people might attack Erik The Rolls,’ Colin says, adding a different view that brings a new silence.

‘Okay. How about this,’ Penny says. ‘Erik and the others are registered, right? Can’t we argue that by impeding their movements we’re taking away their lawful right to employment? Is that even a law? I don’t know. Is that even a thing?’

‘Janey would know,’ Sam says. ‘She’s really hot on that stuff.’

‘Brilliant,’ Penny says, clicking her fingers at Sam.

‘Hi guys!’ Janey says a moment later, popping up on yet another holo feed with Sven at her side. ‘Wow. Look at this. We’re having a conference. Hey, Sam! Hi, Mr Abdul and er, you big security guys.’

Yasmine looks at Sven and Janey sitting outside the café and wishes she was there. She wishes more than anything that she was there.

‘Okay. I see,’ Janey says as Penny finishes explaining. ‘Yes. If they are registered then they have the right to work, but the legal disagreement would be if the security of the ship is more important than their need for work.’

‘Who decides that?’ Penny asks.

‘An arbitration committee on the Ark. They get claims every day for breaches of human rights. There’ll be a form. There’s a form for everything.’

‘Hang on,’ Colin says. ‘Janey, what’s the backlog for a new claim?’

‘Months,’ Janey says with a grimace.

‘We don’t have months,’ Penny says. ‘Is there a fast-track system?’

‘Probably. There normally is for a fee,’ Janey says, looking off screen as she researches the complex world of Fleet civil law. ‘Oh wow. That’s huge. Ten thousand credits.’

‘Ten thousand,’ Penny says, looking at Abdul and cocking her head side to side. ‘The PR on that would be immense. Councillor Shariff using his own money to fight the system for the Elfors.’

‘If you get a judgement it might stop them doing it again in the future,’ Janey says. ‘It’ll be a stated case. Especially if you hire someone like Marianne Kruger to represent you. She’s like the best human rights lawyer ever.’

‘That’s great, Janey. Get on it. You’re now my legal advisor,’ Abdul says as Janey’s eyes go wide with excitement. ‘That’s long term, what about now?’

‘Throw a fart bomb in the guard station,’ Yasmine says, tucking into another rat. ‘That’ll clear it.’

‘Have we got any?’ Abdul asks his team.

‘I think she was joking,’ Colin says after a pause.

‘I wasn’t, actually. I like Erik and LinLin’s got kids and Lonny called us in tears about Dil not getting to work. Trust me. If I was there. I’d fart-bomb it.’

‘Er, excuse me. But that’s actually highly illegal,’ Janey says, using her new role of legal advisor to piss on Yassy’s plan.

Abdul looks at Janey before turning back to Yasmine. ‘Where do we get one from?’

‘Abdul, you can’t throw a fart bomb into the guard station,’ Penny says.

‘We can and we fucking will. A fart bomb doesn’t hurt anyone. Yassy, where do we get one from?’

‘Robby the Blind. He used them to clear Polski the Sad’s men out when he Elfor-dropped him. He had some left over. Robby owes me one. I’ll holo him. Penny, you holo Lonny and tell her to get everyone ready to run through.’

‘We can’t!’ Penny snaps. ‘If we do it then it’s Abdul doing it.’

‘You on about Dilbert The Cleaner?’ Sven asks. ‘His brother was on the crews with me. I’ll holo him and drop the word. Doesn’t come from you then.’

‘Penny. I’m overriding you,’ Abdul says. ‘Make the calls.’

A few minutes for Yasmine and Sven to slide off and make calls. Everyone else eats, all of them feeling the buzz from a weird day. Janey relishing being Abdul’s new legal advisor and wishing Mahatma could see her now. Except she can’t. Because she’s dead.

‘Done. Robby said about twenty minutes,’ Yasmine says.

‘Unbelievable,’ Penny says, crossing the priority off her board.

‘You asked for solutions,’ Colin points out, earning a middle finger in response.

‘That’s that sorted,’ Abdul says with a sigh. ‘How did you two get on?’

‘Not good,’ Penny says heavily.

‘You’re being rolled,’ Yasmine cuts in. ‘Someone’s messing with your stock to drive the stores under so they can take over.’

‘Why the fuck didn’t someone tell me?’ Abdul asks, bridling instantly.

‘They did,’ Yasmine says. ‘They’ve all been messaging you for months.’

‘I told you there were problems, Abdul,’ Penny says. ‘I can’t manage the business accounts and run your election stuff and be there to take every damned call for you. It’s too much!’

‘Right. Fine. My bad, but that’s my income,’ Abdul says, jabbing a hand into the holo feed. ‘Get a shuttle booked. Penny, book me a shuttle. We’ll come over and sort this out. I’m not getting rolled by anyone. Who even does that? Who rolls an Elforist? Putas!’

‘Abdul, stop,’ Penny says, taking her turn to point. ‘We’re not having a turf war over a few traders because we’ll get dragged into another sensationalised press story that makes you look even more like a gangster, which feeds right into Jean Schreiber’s hands.’

‘But—’

‘Abdul. Sorry, but I’m overriding you on this one. We write it off and let them go. If they fold, then they fold.’

‘Are you serious?’ Yasmine asks. ‘Who the hell loses customers like that? That’s credits.’

‘All credits are good credits,’ Clara says, to a few agreeing murmurs.

‘Guys. Bigger picture,’ Penny says, holding her hands up.

‘Fuck the bigger picture,’ Yasmine fires back. ‘We’re Elforists. You don’t roll Elforists! Who does that?’

‘Wow, you got loyal quick,’ Penny says, giving her a look.

‘Okay, firstly, I don’t give two space shits about Abdul. He can go and fuck another table for all I care. Secondly, I am always loyal to people I like, and I liked Mr Ming and Mrs Sing. Her daughter is a bitch, but that’s by the by.’

‘We’re not the police, Yassy,’ Penny says. ‘This isn’t our issue. The Elfors. Jean Schrieber. The election. Those are the priorities, and if that means we lose a few customers then so be it . . . No! Wait,’ she snaps, when Yasmine and Abdul try to jump in. ‘Abdul, we spoke about this. Your trading will take a hit if you move into politics. It’s Chinese New Year on Friday. We focus on that and sorting this mess out with the protest. That’s it.’

A tense air as everyone else watches, seeing the same reactions in Abdul and Yasmine. The same incredulity within each. The same need to defy someone trying to roll them over. But Abdul is older and wiser and he calms faster, nodding at Penny. ‘You’re right. We focus on the bigger things.’

‘You lot can focus on the bigger things. Me? I’m finding out who’s rolling us,’ Yasmine says.

‘I love Yassy,’ Clara tells the room. ‘I do. I’m saying it. I love Yassy. Not one day ago she was telling us to go and fuck goats. Now she’s wanting to bust noses out of corporate loyalty.’

‘Piss off, Clara,’ Yasmine says, trying to sound mean but breaking off into a smile when everyone else starts chuckling.

‘Well. I think Penny’s right,’ Janey says, making everyone look over as the laughs fade out.

‘Thanks, Janey,’ Penny says into the awkward silence.

‘Have you visited Leo yet?’ Abdul asks.

‘Not yet,’ Penny says. ‘We ran out of time. Anyway. Let’s park that and ride the shuttle into the brainstorming session for Sam’s online counterattack.’

‘I’m going for a drink,’ Abdul says.

‘Yeah, I need to clear up,’ Sven says.

‘I need a shower,’ Yasmine says.

‘Workout time for me,’ Clara says.

‘Fine. I’ll win this election on my own!’ Penny yells as they all start drifting off.

‘Good girl,’ Abdul shouts from out of sight.

‘Don’t call me a good girl!’

‘Good girl,’ Colin says.

‘Good girl,’ Pasha says.

‘Putas.’

14

Monday evening

The Elfors

Robby The Blind was on his usual spot on the main strip in Neon City dealing powders and pills when Yasmine called him. He laughed in delight and put a call down to Sally Mole-On-Her-Nose on Level 40.

Sally went to a cupboard at the back of the units once run by Polski the Sad and rooted about for a few minutes before finding a small round metal ball.

‘What’s that?’ Twinkle Toes Tommy asked, overseeing the workers weighing and bagging pills and powders in the sorting room. Sally told him. Tommy burst out laughing and took the ball outside to Little Jimmy Fast Legs – one of the runners waiting to be sent up with new stock.

Jimmy listened. His face lit up. The other runners crowded in, all young kids, and they set off as a pack with Little Jimmy Fast Legs holding the ball above his head. Sally called Lonny. Lonny called Dilbert. Dilbert told LinLin Laundry who told Erik The Rolls while Little Jimmy Fast Legs flew up the flights of stairs with the runners telling anyone who would listen as Robby The Blind told Willy The Rake to keep an eye on his spot.

‘Why?’ Willy The Rake asked. Robby told him. Willy burst out laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ Fast Hands Ferdy asked after stepping out of his club to see how busy the strip was. Willy The Rake told him. Fast Hands Ferdy laughed and went back inside to tell his dancers, who were getting ready for the night. The dancers told the hookers. The hookers told the bouncers and it swept from club to club. From bar to bar. From alley to walkway. From mouth to mouth, and so by the time Robby the Blind emerged from the strip to meet Little Jimmy Fast Legs, everyone knew Wild Yassy’s plan.

‘Guys! Please, give me a break,’ Faiza calls out in the packed guard station, facing off against the frustrated Elforists begging to be let through. A whisper at the back and, like a school of fish, they draw back and out from the guard station.

‘What the . . .’ Faiza asks, going out onto the platform to see Robby the Blind at the head of a huge crowd, coming from Neon City, all tugging tops up to cover their mouths and noses.

‘People need to work,’ Robby calls, while pulling his arm back. ‘And Faiz? Cover your nose, eh love.’

‘Do not throw that in here, Robby!’

But it’s already done, and she twists to follow the silver-coloured ball sailing over the heads of the crowd and into the guard station behind her where it rolls for a few yards before coming to a stop.

‘FART BOMB!’ She yells the warning as the mechanism inside activates a powerful spring that shoots it into the air, spinning fast with compressed air venting the green gas out through hundreds of tiny holes that expel with a wet, rasping noise caused by the propellent. A device used by police and security to break up riots and bar fights. Fast acting and highly repugnant.

‘Now!’ someone yells. The rush comes and Faiza runs for the back, her senses overwhelmed by the putrid gas. Coughing and retching, her eyes watering and throat burning. Hands grip her arms and shoulders, guiding her behind a desk, pushing her to the floor.

‘Nobody touches Faiza,’ someone yells from within the green mist. Maybe Dilbert. Faiza doesn’t know. She catches sight of people running through with hands and tops covering their mouths and noses. Too many to stop.

* * *

‘That’s the one,’ Karen Big Feet says a short while later, coming to a stop at the edge of the retail zone on Level 30.

Karen’s plan was to pay some men to pick a fight with the guards and rush through during the diversion. Then she heard the rumour about the fart bomb and simply did the same as everyone else – covered her face and ran for it.

‘You know what to do?’ she asks the woman with her.

‘You said nobody’s getting hurt, right?’

‘Nobody is getting hurt.’

‘And I get paid. I mean, I’m not doing this for free. Not even for Dmitri.’

‘Hundred for coming up with us and another hundred if you get him down.’

Carla Big Lips holds still. She doesn’t like Karen at all, and she’s very wary of Simon. But still, all credits are good credits, no questions asked, and two hundred is a whole big bunch of credits for not opening her legs. ‘Okay. Sure. I’ll go in . . .’

She walks towards the door and stops with a frown before looking back at Karen and Simon.

‘You have to push it,’ Karen says, watching as Carla slowly heaves the door open.

‘We’re closing,’ Osmosis calls from the counter, busy working on a virtual repair screen glowing up from a wristband. ‘And that means you all need to go,’ he adds for the benefit of the nerds and geeks deep within the aisles. ‘Aw but Osmosis, hanging out in your shop is like the coolest thing ever,’ he mimics to himself. ‘Oh, but hey, we just remembered Linda Lickup has a new video out . . . let’s run home to our tubes and pull our pimply plonks . . . which is exactly what I will be doing unfortunately . . .’

‘Hi.’

‘I said we’re closing,’ he says.

‘Sure. I heard you, honey,’ Carla says as Osmosis tuts and glances up to a huge cleavage in a low-cut top, leaning over his counter. ‘Do you want me to come back?’

‘Fuck no,’ he says before his brain can filter the words. ‘I mean! Haha. Wow. Sorry, it’s not closing time. What am I saying? We’re open for hours yet. How can I help?’

Carla leans in and fixes him with her big blue eyes. ‘Me and some of the girls in Neon City want to set up like a virtual chat group so we can talk to each other? You know, like in private. But we’re not registered or anything.’

Osmosis swallows. ‘It’s very easy. I could set it up for you now if—’

‘Aw, honey. You’re so sweet.’ She reaches over to touch his wristband with her fingers lingering on his arm. ‘But say, would you come down and show us? We don’t even know how to turn them on. We’re good at turning other things on though. I mean, that’s what we do, right?’

Osmosis doesn’t reply, due to losing the power of speech.

‘Would you come down and do that for me?’

‘The stairs are blocked,’ Brian calls over.

‘Shut up, Brian! Er, aren’t the stairs blocked?’ Osmosis enquiries lightly. ‘Like a protest or something? I’m totally pro-Elfor by the way.’

‘Don’t you worry, sweetie. I’ve given enough blowjobs to get through a guard station . . .’ She leans in closer to whisper. ‘And with tits like mine we can get anywhere.’

15

Monday Evening

The Humility

‘Teddy, all I can tell you is that the recent tragic events have brought about a perfect storm, with tensions running higher than ever. On one side there’s Jean Schreiber and his anti-Elfor vibe growing at an alarming rate. While on the other side Abdul Shariff is battling to protect thousands of people from being sealed off completely. One thing is for sure. It looks like the protestors are in it for the long haul.’

‘Cut in three . . . two . . . we’re done,’ Rona says, cutting the live transmission as Kristi sags on the spot.

‘I’ll be so glad when we’re off this ship.’

They head off towards the next stairwell behind a man with wild hair, who Kristi thinks was at the porridge party the other night, now arm-in-arm with a busty woman covered in garish make-up.

She shakes her head at the sight and heads up to Level 20 to the hotel section housing all the media. The bordering bars already packed with journos, assistants and researchers getting wasted and trying to fuck each other.

‘Mind if I go for a couple?’ Rona asks.

‘Go for it,’ Kristi says, glad of the solitude. She heads into her hotel cabin with a heavy sigh, kicking her shoes off. She spots the spare shirts hanging from a rail. Zhang’s shirt at the front. Another stab of something inside. Hurt. Confusion. Pity. Anger. All of the above. But she’s tired, too. Drained, even.

She orders takeaway from the system and heads into the shower cubicle for a whole six minutes of glorious hot water. The perks of being famous. Rona only gets two, but then nothing in life is very fair.

The cabin interface chimes. Her food left outside the door: synth noodles and cubes. Plain, boring, but low calorie. She can’t eat shit food and get bloated because she’s Kristi Carter and under contract to stay in shape.

She eats the food and starts on the wine while running the day through her mind. Thinking it all through and looking at Zhang’s shirt again, feeling an urge to contact him. To say hi. To see how he is. To have her skirt tugged up and her blouse pulled open.

‘No, no, no. Bad girl. Bad, bad, bad.’

Damn. It was good though. The way he made her feel. That sense of focus and attention he had for her. The way he held her. Like his very life depended on it. Does he do that to every girl he screws?

Then she thinks of Mahatma Goudier and those images fade away with a guilty rush as she remembers the whole seedy back story and that even Zhang Woo isn’t worth losing a career for – but one thought leads to two and a simple question swims into her mind: how did Mahatma get into the Finance offices if she was at the party all night?

She opens her system and brings up the files of recorded footage from the porridge party and starts tugging the thread that should be left alone.

16

Monday Night

Neon City

Osmosis always said he wouldn’t be seen dead in a place that exploits people in such a barbaric way. But the truth was that, like so many others, he was simply too scared. Not of the violence, because Osmosis understands Neon City is not as dangerous as it once was. What he was scared of was his own timidity and lack of experience with members of the opposite sex. Fair maidens, long of hair and heavy of breast. With eyes like pools of water and nether regions of hidden pleasure, or slutty wenches that love to be fucked.

That’s how he thought of women, thanks to too many VR games and too much porn. Which is also why Osmosis got into tech in the first place. By learning to hack VR games to make those fair maidens take their clothes off.

But that timidity was okay because Osmosis was surrounded by other like-minded people who all told each other they’d avoid such places of ill-repute and exploitation. Whereas, in fact, they all longed to run riot in Neon City, drinking Elfor Juice, snorting drugs and having orgies with hookers.

Osmosis accepted his way of life and eventually opened his store. The fleet flew through space. Years went by. Nothing ever really changed, and so the flaws and fears never really surfaced.

Then Sam got a girlfriend. Not just a normal girlfriend either, but an insanely hot one from the Elfors. Osmosis even heard that Sam went into Neon City and had fights and chases and all sorts of crazy things, which made Osmosis very aware that his life was ticking by with no change. He woke each day and opened his store, abused the nerds and patronised the customers, then went home to his cabin to either play online games or masturbate. Sometimes both at the same time.

Going to the porridge party didn’t help much either as it meant Osmosis got to see Sam interacting, not only with his insanely hot Elfor girlfriend, but also with other amazing people. Abdul the Angry and Pretty Penny and a huge body-builder lady. Osmosis also saw Sam being interviewed by Kristi Carter, after the whole stupid Pretty Boy thing got blown up out of proportion. Sam only hacked a weak-ass hundred-year-old broken grav-drive for Fleet’s sake.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Osmosis always thought he was the alpha of their nerdy group. Not Sam. Osmosis owned a tech store. Sam just pressed buttons on an airlock door. Osmosis was original and witty. Sam just went red and smiled like a goofy idiot. If anyone should have been interviewed by Kristi Carter, it was Osmosis. And to make matters worse, Kristi even flirted with Sam and said she could see why they call him Pretty Boy.

That rankled Osmosis. The whole thing. From the Elfor girlfriend to being called Pretty Boy to hanging out with famous Elforists and flirting with Kristi Carter. It stewed in Osmosis’s mind. He tried to shrug it off, but it festered. It was like Sam’s sudden ascent of the cool ladder made Osmosis look stupid. He even figured maybe he should do some hacking like Sam did. To show off and get some attention. But he didn’t. He just thought about it and made wild plans in his head that would never come to fruition because, above all else, Osmosis was scared of his own timidity.

Then Carla Big Lips walked in and pretty much said she’d give him a blowjob and show him her boobs if he fixed some unregistered hookers’ wristbands in Neon City, and so there was no way in hell Osmosis was going to say no. He was on it faster than a rat through a vent pipe and promptly expelled the teenage nerds from the Kingdom of Osmosis while panicking that the slutty wench with the big boobs might change her mind.

But now, as they near the security station on Level 37, it suddenly doesn’t seem like such a good idea. A clamour greets them. A foul stench in the air. Stair guards with voltage sticks looking pissed off. A lot of them, too. Elforists being told to fuck off. Punters ahead of Osmosis squeezing through to get into Neon.

‘You stay with me, sweetie,’ Carla says, giving him a soft smile. ‘Nobody will touch you.’

‘My bravery is not in question, fair maiden; as a gallant knight I am simply concerned for your welfare,’ Osmosis says, looking terrified.

A guard turns to face them. Big, gnarly and angry-looking. Osmosis flinches, but the guard simply rolls his eyes at them and moves aside. The others do the same as Carla smiles at the many men she has known before.

Then it’s done and Osmosis steps out into Neon City proper. The lights flashing and strobing. Music in the air. So many things to see all at the same time. Bodyguards lining the walkway with holo adverts giving prices and offering services. Some in negotiation with punters. Vendors selling food. Little Jimmy Fast Legs whizzing by. Other runners going the other way.

‘Carla! Who’s the handsome man?’ a gorgeous woman, wearing a mesh dress and nothing else, calls out.

‘Love that hair, big boy,’ another says, planting a kiss on his cheek while smoothing his wild locks down. Osmosis puffs up as his chest inflates from the flattery.

‘The Kingdom of Osmosis says thank you for your nipples – kindness! I meant kindness. I said kindness.’

‘Sure honey. Whatever you want,’ the woman says, winking as she walks off, draping a hand slowly across his chest. A look from her to Carla Big Lips. A knowing smile shared. They flatter her punters to make them feel good, and she does it for theirs. Happy marks spend more. Quid pro quo. All credits are good credits, no questions asked.

They go into the Ritzy Ditzy, a nightclub filled with pounding music and people dancing. Big burly bouncers, nearly-naked women gyrating on platforms, lasers and neon lights flashing everywhere.

Carla smiles at Osmosis, leading him on by the hand. Taking him to the bar, while she thinks of Zhang. Wishing she could take more food up to his cabin.

‘So. Where shall we begin, my fair maiden?’ Osmosis asks, staring at Carla’s cleavage while she looks about for Karen to tell her the job is complete.

‘A man after my own tastes.’

‘Sorry, what?’ Osmosis asks, as a big arm wraps about his shoulders.

‘You should see them naked.’

‘See what naked?’ Osmosis asks, as the big guy holding him in place gently reaches out to touch Carla’s cheek. She starts at the contact, thinking it to be the mark, then flinches when she sees it isn’t, and quickly hides any reaction.

‘He was looking at your tits.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Osmosis says quickly, staring up at the big guy. ‘Honestly, I wasn’t,’ he tells Carla.

‘It’s fine, sugar,’ Carla says.

‘See. She says it’s fine,’ the big guy says.

‘But I wasn’t.’

The big guy fixes his hard eyes on Osmosis. ‘I’m lying then. Is that what you’re saying?’ Osmosis starts to panic as the implied threat ramps high. ‘I’m joking!’ the big guy says with a sudden smile, laughing as he squeezes Osmosis’s shoulders with a show of strength. ‘Relax. It’s fine. Hey, fix the guy a drink,’ he calls out to the bar staff. ‘It’s cool. She likes men staring at her tits. It’s her job.’

‘Sure, Dmitri,’ Carla says, offering a smile.

‘So, who is this man anyway, Carla? Is he the tech guy you said about? Carla told me she wanted you to set up a chat group. Is that right?’

‘Er, yeah . . .’ Osmosis says, shooting looks between Carla and Dmitri.

‘Carla, you mind if I chat to him for a while? I love tech stuff.’

‘Whatever you want, Dmitri,’ Carla says. She moves away, then stops on feeling a big hand grip her wrist. Only for a split second, but enough to tell Carla she has to stay.

‘So. Tech Guy. Tell me about this chat group,’ Dmitri says. A psychopathic, woman- beating killer. But charming too, and he knows how to look into the eyes of men to make them feel at ease. How to nod and listen. How to smile and laugh. Attentive. Caring. A new best friend who will be forever loyal.

Until he gets what he wants.

17

Monday night

The Humility

Kristi sips more wine and watches the footage from the night of the porridge party.

She spots Abdul staring into the café as though something has caught his eye. Sam, Janey and Sven all huddled together inside, in a serious conversation.

The angle changes as Rona sweeps the camera over the dance floor. A sudden light spill at the end and Kristi tuts sadly at the sight of a very drunk Mahatma Goudier smoothing her hair down and tugging her dress in place as she comes out of the toilet.

A moment later Zhang Woo comes out of the same toilet, pulling his clothes straight with an action that makes Kristi looks away with a strange stab of jealousy, while reminding herself the poor woman is dead. But she does clock Zhang’s dark and brooding facial expression as he walks through the party.

‘He’s worried,’ Kristi murmurs. He disappears out of sight as Kristi sweeps forward through the footage, trying to spot him again, but he’s gone. Mahatma, however, doesn’t leave. She’s right there. Drinking and dancing.

Kristi slowly lowers the beaker of wine while wondering how in the fleet Mahatma committed the robbery if she didn’t leave the party? Witnesses said they saw Mahatma walking through the Finance offices. But yet she doesn’t leave the café.

But if Mahatma didn’t rob the offices, then who did? And why? She needs to know. She has to know. But how? How can she find out? Is that why Janey was panicking in the café when Kristi started asking questions? But how the heck would someone like Janey be involved? That doesn’t make any sense. Kristi drinks more wine and feels the buzz growing, pacing back and forth, while all the time building to the decision she knew she was going to make anyway. She just needed a viable reason, and now she’s got one.

She grabs Zhang’s shirt and runs for the door.

‘Kristi!’ Rona says, standing outside a bar with a few other news-crew workers as Kristi Carter rushes by. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m taking it back,’ Kristi yells, speed-walking towards the stairwell. She would run but she’s way too drunk for that. ‘I’m taking this back,’ she tells the startled guards in the Level 20 security station.

Down the stairs she goes with wine in her belly and a whole lot of questions in her head. Down the stairs she goes. A bit too fast and a bit too drunk. She needs to take his shirt back anyway. It’s not like she even wants his shirt anywhere near her. She can ask him about Mahatma too. The shirt and the questions. That’s it. She’s absolutely not going to have sex with him again. She hates him. She hates his shirt too. She’s a journalist. She’s investigating. That’s it. No other reason. None at all.

She reaches his level and turns a bit too quick to get off the platform and smacks her kneecap into a railing with a yelp. ‘Go fuck a goat,’ she tells the post, swiping it with Zhang’s shirt before setting off again, using her free hand to rub her sore knee. Wine in her belly. Questions in her head. A need to know. A desire for the truth. But not for sex. Definitely not for sex. Just the questions. That’s it. No sex.

‘Think again, buster,’ she says, already imagining Zhang wrapping a towel around his hard, naked body before opening the door. She’ll tell him he’s a sleazy prick while demanding to know how the hell Mahatma Goudier is meant to have robbed the Finance offices if she never left the party. That’s right. Kristi will ask him while he stands there in his towel all brooding and hot.

She reaches his door, breathing hard. His shirt crumpled in her hand. A moment to try to get composure while she tucks stray strands of hair away and unfastens the top of her blouse to show a bit of chest so he can see what he’s missing. Ha! That’ll teach him.

She knocks his door and rubs a finger over her teeth to make sure there’s no bits of food stuck anywhere. ‘Hey! Zhang, open the door.’ She knocks again, thumping her fist hard. ‘And don’t even try anything. Even if you’re naked. Which is fine by the way. I mean . . . whatever . . . just open the damn door.’

‘He’s not there, love,’ a woman says from the next cabin along, leaning out of her door. ‘He’s gone. Hey, aren’t you that Kristi Carter?’

‘No. Where’s Zhang?’

‘Well, I can’t tell you that, can I. You could be anyone.’

‘I’m Kristi Carter.’

‘You just said you weren’t.’

‘I am! Where’s Zhang gone?’

‘He’s gone home, love. Said he’s going to see his family.’

‘Home? On the Beijing? When did he go?’

‘A few hours, maybe.’

‘Did he say when he’ll be back?’

‘Funny, that. He said he wasn’t sure if he would be. Said to ask about if anyone wants his cabin. Anyway. Night, love.’

The door closes as Kristi sags on the spot with his shirt in her hand, which now won’t get returned. Nor will she get the answers she wanted, and she definitely won’t get any sex either. Not that she came here for sex.

‘I didn’t,’ she tells his door, just in case it was thinking she did, but the door isn’t stupid and gives her a knowing look. ‘Fuck you,’ she whispers, sticking her middle finger up and stomping off.

18

Monday night

Neon City

‘It’s actually very hard to set up a chat group for unregistered people,’ Osmosis shouts over the music.

‘But you can do it though, right?’ Dmitri asks.

‘Oh easy. Like, super easy for someone with my talents,’ Osmosis says as Carla hands him a glass of strong synth vodka.

‘Why is it so hard to set up?’ Dmitri asks.

‘It’s because the operating system needs the user to be registered and biometrically linked for the interconnected AI to take data from the social media feeds and finance systems to present a whole package to the user. It links to their cabin interface, work systems, everything really, but it all relies on the user’s registration to work.’

Dmitri shows an impressed reaction. ‘Guy’s a genius. Did you get any of that?’

‘Not one word,’ Carla says honestly.

‘Carla likes smart guys.’ Dmitri winks at Osmosis as another drink is pushed into his hand. His face a little flushed, his defences lowered, and he likes the way Carla keeps touching him, too. ‘Hey, listen,’ Dmitri says as though he just had a sudden idea. ‘I’ve got a room. Come and join me. I want to hear more, but it’s noisy in here. Carla? Waddya say?’

‘Sure,’ Carla says because there really isn’t any other answer to give. She takes Osmosis’s hand, wanting to tell him to run and never look back because she hasn’t seen Dmitri put a charm offensive on anyone like this for a long time. But she doesn’t and they follow Dmitri as the crowd parts to let the big man pass. Everyone shaking his hand. Nodding with respect. The bouncers do the same. The dancing girls, the staff, the punters. A show of power that Osmosis absorbs with delight.

Dmitri reaches out to grab the arm of a black woman and spins her about to pull her in. ‘This is Honey The Money,’ he tells Osmosis with a wink. ‘She wants to join us – that okay?’

‘Sure,’ Osmosis says, smiling at Honey.

‘And this one,’ Dmitri laughs, grabbing a Chinese girl. ‘Is Lick Suck. You like Chinese girls, Tech Guy?’ he asks, patting Lick’s backside hard enough to send her over to Osmosis.

Dmitri walks on to a door guarded by Guphy. A nod and they pass through with Guphy smiling at the girls leading Osmosis into a corridor lined with doors. The deafening volume is instantly lower.

‘Room 4,’ Dmitri says, winking back at Osmosis as he pushes inside past Mad Eyes Ken gawping at the hookers. ‘Karen!’ Dmitri says. ‘I got my new buddy with me. This is Tech Guy.’

‘Hey, Tech Guy,’ Karen says as Osmosis goes inside to a private room glowing with UV that shows the stick men and symbol tattoos on arms and necks. Sofas in the middle, and a bar to one side filled with bottles. Music playing.

‘Hey, handsome,’ Lick says, kissing Osmosis’s cheek.

‘Love this,’ Honey says, ruffling his hair. Hands on his arms. Touching his chest. One of them squeezes his backside as Karen pours glowing yellow liquid into glasses from one of the bottles and starts handing them out.

‘Is this Elfor Juice?’ Osmosis asks. ‘I thought it was illegal.’

The three girls laugh as though it’s the funniest, most charming thing they ever heard as they help him drink it down, then guide him down onto the sofa while he gasps and coughs, turning red in the face from the burn of the liquid hitting his belly, his senses becoming overwhelmed.

‘This your first time in Neon?’ Karen asks.

Osmosis nods, smiling at Honey, then at Lick and Carla as the Elfor Juice spreads through his body. ‘Er yeah. First time. I’ve been wanting to come for ages, but work, you know.’

‘What do you do?’ Karen asks.

‘I run a shop. The Kingdom of Osmosis. It’s er . . . a high-end tech unit with service provision to only the most refined customers.’

‘That’s yours? No way. Simon loves that shop. He’s busting a gut to get up and see it for real.’

‘He’s welcome anytime,’ Osmosis says, tracking Karen’s eyes to the silent black guy at the back.

‘But we’re not registered,’ Karen says with a wince.

‘We’re stuck down here,’ Dmitri says sadly.

‘I heard Elfor people can just go up,’ Osmosis says, as Honey strokes his cheek while pulling cute faces.

‘Not with all this stuff going on,’ Karen says.

‘The killings? Yeah. I saw it online. Hey, do you guys know the murderers? Like, I heard everyone knows everyone down here.’

‘Sweetie, you don’t ask questions like that down here,’ Carla says, turning his head to look at her while tutting and shaking her head.

‘All credits are good credits,’ Honey tells him.

‘No questions asked,’ Lick says, tapping a line of coloured powder from a small vial onto the back of her hand. Green, white and yellow. Osmosis watches on with a touch of panic at seeing the hard drugs. His nerves starting to show again. Carla snorts the line then sits up with her eyes unfocussed for a second. She relaxes, smiles and blinks slowly at Osmosis. Everyone takes a turn until Lick offers her hand to Osmosis, then pulls it back and snorts the line herself. Everyone laughs at the joke. Osmosis too, as he hesitates and swallows and looks over to his new buddy for reassurance.

‘It’s cool,’ Dmitri says, just before snorting his own line.

‘We’ll take good care of you,’ Carla whispers in his ear.

‘Real good care,’ Honey says from the other side, her hand riding higher up his thigh.

Lick taps another line and comes in close, straddling Osmosis’s lap. Offering the line of powder. He hesitates. Still not quite there. Still resisting the onslaught. A look in his eyes suggests he might bolt. A nod from Dmitri to Honey who takes Osmosis’s hand and guides it up inside Lick’s top until he’s cupping one of her breasts. Lick groans, writhing gently as though his very touch is sending waves of pleasure through her, and at that very second his own mind becomes lost that this is real. That he is in Neon City drinking Elfor Juice with hookers offering him drugs.

He snorts the line.

Calm-A-Mind and White Snow to help him chill. Yellow Elfor to make him bold and brave. A touch of Green Wizard to keep him buzzing and a whole lot of Cum-A-Lot-More because there’s nothing worse than a punter with a floppy willy getting all morose.

But those drugs take a few minutes to get going and the girls work hard to keep him distracted with little kisses, soft whispers and gentle touches because he’s not the first adult virgin through the doors and he won’t be the last.

Then it all hits. The vodka. The Elfor Juice. The powders. His tension eases. His mind opens. His heart stops going like the clappers. His pupils dilate and his mouth drops open when Carla and Lick share a kiss in front of him. Gentle at first but getting more passionate by the second. Honey’s hand now on his groin. His own hand still inside Lick’s top, flicking his thumb back and forth over her nipple in a way she hates, but she murmurs to show she loves it.

A charge in the air, a rush of lust. He swallows and gasps.

‘Hey, Tech Guy?’ Karen calls.

‘Huh?’

‘You having fun?’

Osmosis nods, mesmerised at watching two women kissing.

‘You wanna have more fun?’

Osmosis keeps nodding as Lick takes the cue and pulls her top over her head. Carla does the same and Osmosis’s heart thunders as they start touching each other.

‘But here’s the thing,’ Karen says. ‘Say we wanted to get out of the Elfors for a bit. You know. With all this violence going on. Could you help?’

The nods keep going as Honey turns his head to look at her and kisses him on the mouth, her tongue sliding between his lips.

‘Can you register us?’ Karen asks.

Osmosis nods, his mind adrift. ‘It’s not easy,’ he murmurs.

‘Will be for you, baby,’ Honey says.

‘What do you need?’ Karen asks.

‘Names.’

‘Names?’ Karen asks. ‘Hey? Tech Guy? What names?’

Honey pulls back a little. Carla and Lick stop kissing and Osmosis panics that the orgy is over before it starts.

‘What names?’ Karen asks again, adding a laugh to show it’s all good and still fun.

‘I need names,’ he says, glancing over at her. ‘From dead people.’

‘Why dead people?’ Karen asks. ‘We heard crosslinking can be done to anyone’s wristband.’

‘Yeah, but they’ll report it stolen or lost and the band gets zapped and they get a new one with a different ID system, and most dead people don’t have their accounts terminated. They’re dead. They can’t do it, and the families normally forget. I get people in my shop asking me to hack their dead relatives’ bands, but the band is just a gateway. Like an access point.’

‘What did I say? The guy’s a genius,’ Dmitri says, as the three women nod and murmur in agreement, making Osmosis grin at the attention.

‘We get you some dead people’s names then you can register us, right?’ Karen asks.

A discreet nod from Dmitri and Carla eases up from the sofa to take her trousers off. Lick does the same. Honey too. All three undressing and touching each other while staring at Osmosis.

‘Yeah,’ Osmosis says, breathing hard. Nodding quickly. ‘Sure. Yeah. Whatever you want.’

‘You promise?’ Karen asks with a laugh. ‘You won’t let us down now will you, Tech Guy?’

‘He won’t let us down,’ Dmitri says. ‘Tech Guy’s good. You good, Tech Guy?’

‘I’m good. Yeah. Definitely.’

‘See. He’s good,’ Dmitri says. ‘But I think he’s distracted. Maybe we’ll give him some privacy.’

‘Privacy,’ Karen says, moving between the girls to gently cup Osmosis’s chin in her hand. ‘Promise is a promise, Tech Guy.’

She moves off, leaving the room with Chatty Simon as Dmitri laughs and moves over to the sofa to join Osmosis. ‘Oh and hey,’ Karen says, pausing at the door. ‘There’s no limits here. You do whatever you want . . .’

19

Monday Night

The Beijing

For two nights and three days Zhang Woo stayed inside his cabin on the Humility.

Two nights and three days of wild dreams where he thrashed within his tube, dreaming of Mahatma standing in front of an airlock.

‘I do believe I am falling for you, Mr Woo.’

‘GET AWAY, MATTY! GET AWAY!’

He screamed warnings and ran so very fast, but no matter what he did, the airlock opened, and she was sucked out to join the others. Penny and Kristi. Jorgey and Helga and Carla Big Lips. All of them mummified and frozen and staring at him through lifeless eyes as they slowly spun away.

He woke sweating, and his hands shook as he swallowed more pills. He wanted Elfor Juice, but he drank water. He ate sparingly. Synth shit. Cubes. Rolls. Whatever he had left over.

He thought about Helga. About the code. About the new planet. About all of it, and the one overriding emotional reaction was the notion of change, because Mahatma Goudier was a selfish, greedy, narcissistic bullying bitch who fucked her boss to blackmail him for material wealth, but she was willing to forsake that material gain to be with Zhang. And therein lies the change.

Attention, Passengers! We will shortly be docking at the Beijing. please remain clear of the exits until the shuttle has completed full docking manoeuvres.

He joins the queue and slowly shuffles forward, feeling the shuttle jolt as it docks, listening to the clunks and clicks and the air pressure changes within the connecting tube.

His face still marked and bruised. That’s why he tried to keep his head down when he swung by HQ on his way to the docking port and collected his pistol.

‘Thought you were suspended,’ Sergeant Hopkins said. ‘Shit doesn’t stick to you, does it, Zhang?’

‘You fuckin’ Jorgey as well, Zhang?’ A young female officer he seduced months ago asked. The same hatred and hurt in her eyes that Kristi had.

Zhang stayed silent and holstered his weapon while heading for the door.

‘Detective?’ Sergeant Hopkins called, as he reached the door. ‘Accidents happen, and stairwells are dark at night. Don’t come back.’

* * *

A few hours later and Zhang steps out onto his home vessel. The worldship Beijing. He feels jittery and on edge, like his insides are trying to claw out of his body. He hasn’t had any Calm-A-Mind for hours and the sex addiction is reminding him it hasn’t been fed for two nights and three days. He could take more meds, but this is work now and he needs to be sharp. Yasmine has the code and is now a bait bug, dangled on a bit of string to see who comes for her, and that’s a foul thing to do. To use someone like that. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, especially knowing he can’t do anything else.

He heads into a lane, his footsteps sounding out softly. A junction ahead where four lanes meet. All empty. All silent. Only the hum of electrics and pipes, and the thrum of the vessel. The background noise everyone hears from birth, that becomes a new kind of silence.

He reaches the junction. Shadows ahead, deep and dark. One of them moves, and Zhang instantly forgets his woes as a hooded figure steps out to block the lane ahead of him.

‘What’s your trouble, friend?’ Zhang asks, slipping into his native tongue. Motion from the right. Motion from the left. Two more figures melting out from the shadows. Hooded and male. He comes to a stop and glances behind to see a fourth figure, distinctly female in shape, with her face hidden in the darkness of her hood.

Three male. One female. Local hoods looking for someone to roll.

A crackle from ahead as the hooded figure turns a mini-voltage stick on. The guy on the right flicking out a flexi-pipe – an evil thing that’s like being hit with an iron bar. A pulsing hum from the other side as the guy with electric knuckles looped over his hands pre-charges them. The threat now palpable and overt. Zhang runs options through his mind. He could say he’s a cop, but his jurisdiction ended the second he left the Humility. Besides, it wouldn’t make any difference.

He turns to look at the one behind him. She’s still empty handed, but he spots the silent nod she gives and knows she’s in charge.

‘Wristband,’ the figure ahead says. ‘And anything else in your pockets.’

Zhang holds his gaze on the woman, unable to see her features but knowing she’s watching him. He shakes his head. Maybe to say no. Maybe to say don’t do it.

‘Fuck this,’ one of the others says and the three move in, closing the distance, and for one glorious second Zhang resigns his mind to the beating that’s coming, knowing he deserves it.

Then he’s zapped in the back from the pre-charged knuckles and the idea of self-sacrifice swiftly fucks off as Zhang remembers that getting beaten up really hurts.

He draws the Taser pistol and fires into the two with ranged weapons, making them convulse with harsh grunts. The third keeps coming, too close to shoot at. His fists up, his knuckles crackling, a swinging punch delivered. Zhang leans back as it sails by, but the guy’s already lashing out with his other hand. Zhang slaps it down, grunting at the zap of pain from his palm striking the charged knuckles. He dances back, his mind now in the game. Palm to nose. Nose broken. Fist to jaw. Jaw broken. Fist to ribs. Ribs broken. Foot to knee. The leg buckles. Fists to head, driving into the back of the guy’s skull, slamming him down into the hard floor. A swish from the side and Zhang turns fast, moving in close to prevent being hit by the flexi-pipe. He locks the weapon arm up, driving the guy headfirst into the one with the voltage stick. Skulls clash hard. Both scream and Zhang grunts from the voltage stick driving into his leg. A crunch and he breaks the elbow of the one holding the flexi-pipe, kicking him away before launching himself at the one with the voltage stick.

‘HEY! NO!’ He screams as Zhang rips the stick from his hand and rams it into his chest.

‘Putas,’ Zhang says, turning around just in time to see the woman shoot him in the face with a gas gun, a second before an explosion of pain rips through his groin as he’s kicked in the balls. He staggers away, sucking air and clutching his privates while rubbing his forehead as the woman casually lifts the gas gun and shoots him in the backside.

He starts running, bent over and gasping, and it’s all he can do to stay away from the clouds before they make him retch and puke. They still hit his eyes, making them smart and sting. ‘OW! Quit it!’ he shouts, and flares up with a surge of rage. Stalking towards her. ‘I swear to god, you shoot me again I’ll . . . FUCK!’ he yells when she shoots him in the forehead and sends a shot back.

‘FUCKER!’ she yells, slamming back into a bench, grunting as the charge expels itself in her belly.

He sets off. She gives chase. Both firing at the other. A junction ahead. He goes left. She goes right. The lanes end and as one they spill out into Confucius Square, each aiming at the other. Both wheezing from the gas. Both pulling triggers that do nothing.

‘Shit,’ he mutters, changing magazine.

‘Fuck,’ she mutters, doing the same. They both start running before the other can shoot them again, legging it across the vast square towards the Great Wall. Memories from childhood flood his mind. Running across this very square from the cops. Chasing other gangs. Fighting and fleeing. Running and stealing.

He sprints through the Great Wall, Yuey a second or two behind, hearing his feet crunch the gravel and the sound he makes when he runs over the wooden floor in the Temple.

She surges after him with her pistol up and runs inside, tugging her hood down, desperate for air. Coughing from the gas, her eyes streaming with tears, chest heaving. Pain in her body from the Taser needles.

A cough from the back. She runs after the noise, hearing him mounting the stairs. She reaches them a second behind him, taking them two at a time and breaching the top, expecting him to be ahead.

Zhang moves in from the side, sweeping her legs out. She tries to vault but clips a hand across his face as she drops, landing on her back and instantly twisting to kick his ankles as he tries to run. He goes down hard, sprawling out. She surges up, launching herself at his body, driving fists into his sides. He grunts and twists to get on his back while trying to lock her arms up, but she lunges in and bites his shoulder. He cries out and rolls over. She bucks and heaves, getting a knee into his groin as his heavier bodyweight pins her down.

‘Stop, Yuey!’ he gasps.

‘Fuck you.’ She spits the words out, grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks hard, pulling him off her. She goes with the motion, riding his body as they roll across the hard wooden floor. Grunting and gasping for air, sweat pouring down faces, the gas making them cough and wheeze but over and over they go. Fighting for dominance, to get on top and pin the other. A sudden opening for her to attack. His face unprotected and she jabs hard, driving the tip of her thumb into the round welt on his forehead, left by the first pellet strike.

‘What the fuck!’ he cries as she pushes harder, grinding her thumb into the sore spot. ‘Yuey! Fuck off!’

‘I said don’t come back.’ She rasps the words out, riding on top while driving her thumb into his forehead. He reaches out, wrapping his arms about her body in a bear hug. ‘I’ll fucking bite you . . . I swear to god, Zhang. I’ll bite your fucking ear off.’ She lunges in with her teeth snapping as he pulls his head away, feeling her hot breath blasting over his neck, her hot body within his arms. Her teeth dangerously close to his ear. Both grunting at the other. An energy in the air. Something of violence. Of anger and rage and hurt and memories. A few more seconds of frenzied thrashing and she finally starts to ease down, sucking air in and butting her forehead into the side of his. Hard enough to hurt, but not as hard as she could.

‘I said don’t come back,’ she whispers, with meaning in her words. He doesn’t reply and the years fall away. Hatred in her eyes. The same hatred Kristi had. That same energy, as though at any second she might rip his throat out with her teeth. A snarl, and she moves in as Zhang braces, expecting pain but then feeling her mouth on his, and the memories flood back of being here, doing this same thing. Fighting furiously. Fucking tenderly. Kissing passionately. Running hands through hair and over bodies. Rushing to undress. Pulling tops off, tugging trousers down, and he takes her small breasts in his hands, remembering them so well. Her hard, lean body and the fire dragon tattoo wrapped about her ribs. She feels his shoulders and arms. His chest and stomach. Zhang had bulk before he left – now he’s leaner and harder. Her backside is a bit more padded, a bit softer. Her hair is longer. They’ve aged. Grown older. But the essence of familiarity is the same, and within seconds they’re moving like they always used to. Sitting upright with Yuey straddling his lap. Slowly at first. Finding the rhythm. Finding the groove. She gasps in pleasure, sweat pouring down. Both still smarting from the gas. Both coughing now and then with shudders that seem to excite the other.

The passion builds, but in the midst of the lust another face swims into his mind. Another body that was held in his arms. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Kristi Carter drawing her nails over his chest. The way she held him when they made love. The raw passion of it. Fucking on his sofa, then on the floor. Kissing over and over – and for a second he becomes lost in a weird sub-reality, his mind believing he’s with Kristi now. It’s only for a second or two and then it’s gone, and he realises where he is as Yuey grunts with spasms shooting through her body, shuddering in a way that makes him orgasm with their bodies locking out.

A moment later she slowly lowers to kiss his mouth, both breathing the air of the other. A thing happening that speaks of memories gone. A thing from a time that is no more.

Neither speaks, for fear of breaking whatever this is. Of being here again. He wraps his arms around her, holding her so very close, the way only he ever could, and Yuey closes her eyes, remembering the feelings she had. The love. The obsession. The need. But as the pleasure of the orgasm fades away, so she remembers the other side of him.

‘I said don’t come back,’ she whispers, then groans as she rolls off to lie at his side. She bangs the back of her head into the floor a few times with a wave of bitter regret. ‘I said, Zhang. I said don’t come back.’

He doesn’t reply. But Zhang never did reply. That’s his thing. His ability to weaponize his silence. ‘You’ve changed,’ she adds, a moment later. Staring up at nothing. ‘You hurt my men.’

‘They attacked me,’ he says, but he knows what she means. He broke bones. The old Zhang would have put them down without doing that. But he’s not the old Zhang.

‘You’re thinner too. Are you sick?’

‘No.’ He starts looking about for his trousers. ‘How’s your uncle?’

‘He still wants to kill you if that’s what you mean. Are you here for your sister?’

‘My sister?’

‘The baby, Zhang. She had a baby.’

He shrugs and looks at her before shaking his head. ‘Business.’

‘What business? Police business?’

Silence. She blasts air and sits up to find her clothes. ‘Well. Good fucking you. Have a safe trip back to the Humility.’

‘Yuey.’

‘I said don’t come back. Uncle will kill you.’

‘Not if he doesn’t know.’

‘I’ll tell him. You know I will.’

‘Yuey . . .’

‘Fuck off, Zhang. Not happening. You left. Remember?’

‘Then what was that?’

She stops dressing to look at him. ‘Jesus. I haven’t been laid like that since you left. But that’s all you are, a fuck and a bad memory. You suck souls out of women, Zhang. You’re a fucking vampire, and when uncle orders me I will airlock you and eat Beijing Rat while watching you die.’ She rises to her feet and holds a hand out to pull him up, and smiles as he body-bumps her. A weird energy still between them. She even moves in to give him a lingering kiss, and runs a hand over his jaw. ‘Zhang Woo back on the Beijing,’ she whispers as though it’s funny, while studying his features. ‘Damn, you’re still hot. How about me? How do I look? Have I aged well?’

‘You’re beautiful,’ he says, in that way that makes her belly twitch. She masks the emotion by pretending to eat rat while waving at him floating off into space.

‘Nomnomnom crunchy rat. Bye bye, Zhang. Have a nice death.’

‘Fucked up.’ He snorts a dry laugh as she jabs a finger into his chest.

‘Cop,’ she says, then jabs herself. ‘Criminal.’ Silence. She smiles sadly. ‘How long do you need over here?’ He shrugs. He doesn’t know. ‘It’s busy. New Year on Friday so . . . maybe you’ll get lost in the crowds if you stay low. Which is me telling you to stay low. See your family, Zhang. Say hi to your sister. Kiss the baby, then fuck off, because if Uncle Leo sees you, he will kill you. And he doesn’t give a shit who your family are.’

20

Tuesday Morning

The Beijing

‘Good morning, folks. I’m Kristi Carter and today marks one hundred and twenty three years and . . . damn it, I’ve lost count. Guess who had too much synth vino last night? Me. That’s who. But hey, a gal’s gotta relax, isn’t that right, folks. And it’s not like I can find another way to relax over here . . .’

Sam Gablinski wakes in his sleeping tube and peers out into the hotel room’s holo feed of Kristi Carter sounding very different to normal.

‘What’s up with her?’ Penny asks, watching the news in her underwear.

‘She just said,’ Yasmine says, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body, ‘she got drunk.’

‘Well damn me, Pretty Boy. You a cutey pie in the morning too! Come here and give Clara a big hug. I’m missing my Boris.’

‘Hmpffwiggle,’ Sam says, engulfed and pressed into Clara’s very hard body.

‘Go on now. You go and wash and I’ll make you a nice coffee.’

‘Why don’t we get coffees?’ Yasmine asks.

‘You give me a hug, Yassy, and I’ll make you a coffee.’

‘I’m not the hugging type. I said I’m not the . . . fuck’s sake. God, you’re so strong!’

‘Damn straight,’ Clara says, pinning Yasmine into a cuddle as Sam heads into the hacked shower. A few minutes to wash and scrub his body. A fizzball for his mouth, and he steps out to hear music playing in the main room. He dries himself off, still not quite able to grasp the concept of a new planet. He scoured the net last night while the others were chatting for any mention of it, but there was nothing. Just the normal conspiracy stuff: that the higher-ups have always known there’s a planet, but they won’t tell anyone. Or that the Earth never actually got hit by the meteor, and also there was never any meteor in the first place, or that it was really because the fossil fuels were running out. Then he stumbled into the other theories about how Earth was controlled by six or eight powerful families – depending on which conspiracy site you were on – and that between them they owned everything. All the financial institutions and banks. They bankrolled whole countries and kept the West rich while plundering developing nations. They owned all the transport networks, and the media, and advertising and pharmaceuticals. And now, of course, they own the whole fleet. They control everything, and they own the new planet too, and the Ark, and all of the other ships. And all the politicians. And the food production, and literally everything.

But other than delving into wild conspiracies, Sam didn’t find anything on the net about a new planet or a code or the Gagarin and, if anything, it made him doubt that the code they stole had any connection to anything at all.

The frustrating thing is knowing he could run the code into a nerd-heaven software system that will translate what it’s about. Geeks do it all the time, and cream themselves over advanced notice of meteor showers and comets and other crap flying about in the cosmos. But that software is public-only: there’s no way of using it without showing the fleet what it is. Sam can’t even hack it because the whole system is built to be public. He’d have to re-write the entire program and duplicate it for a private, single-use function only.

He hits the panel to open the door and comes to a dead stop, with all thoughts of everything instantly gone from his head at the sight that greets him.

Penny, Yasmine and Clara, all in various states of undress. Penny in shorts and bra. Yasmine in underwear, pulling a face while staring at outfits hanging from the end of the tubes. Clara with a towel wrapped about her body. A music channel on the holo feed, with Chi-Chi’s latest hit – ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum, The Fleet Goes On’ – blasting, and the famous superstar dancing to the simple catchy lyrics overlaid with a pulsing beat and killer melody. Lights and animations flash along to the tune. But it’s not the music or the flesh on display that makes Sam stop and gawp. Nor is it the sight of Penny tapping her foot while sending a message on her system. Or Clara swaying a little as she rubs lotion into her arms and neck. Or Yasmine, still pulling faces at what to wear.

It’s the tattoos on them. On all of them. Glowing stick-men and -women: some in freefall, some climbing or moving, some holding things.

The sight captivates him. Holding him rooted to the spot, but the weirdest thing is how the tattoos disappear now and then in time to the music, as the holo track blasts out a UV light within the display.

Two stick-women on the back of Penny’s shoulder, arm in arm, both with smiling faces. The initials PP under one; WY under the other. The same tattoo on Yasmine’s shoulder. PP and WY. Pretty Penny and Wild Yassy.

Elfor tattoos. Everyone on the Humility has heard about them – probably everyone in the fleet. Permanent ink that only shows under UV light.

Sam moves closer to stare in delight, then tuts when the tune changes and the UV light cuts off. A minute later and he brings a UV filter up from his interface and widens the spread to take in the whole room. He laughs at one on Penny’s arm showing a stick-woman holding a small mirror in one hand. Another one above it showing a figure applying lip-liner. More on Clara with stick-figures showing bulging muscles.

‘Seen this, Sam?’ Penny asks. She turns Yasmine about and lifts her hair to show Sam the tattoo on the nape of her neck. He frowns for a second, not quite getting why there’s several stick figures bouncing about inside a square box. ‘Wild Yassy,’ Penny prompts, as it suddenly becomes obvious. Wild Yassy trapped in a box, trying to break free. So simple, yet so clever.

Yasmine moves away, unhappy with the scrutiny, and pulls her hair back down while looking a little unsure at Sam. As though she’s ashamed of the marks that show where she’s from. ‘Should get them removed, really.’

‘Why?’ Penny asks. ‘I love mine.’

‘Aren’t you embarrassed?’

‘Of what? Of being an Elfor? God, no. I’m proud of it.’

‘Proud? It’s the shithole of the fleet.’

‘It’s home,’ Penny says, offering a simple shrug. ‘Anyway. Right. Let’s get sorted . . . ooh, coffee,’ she adds, rushing over to her beaker.

‘Has Abdul got them?’ Sam asks.

‘Abdul’s covered in them,’ Penny says.

‘But he’s got proper tattoos,’ Sam says. ‘On his arms.’

‘Yeah, over the UV ones. Put him under a light one day if he’ll let you. He’s like a tapestry.’

‘What about Boris?’

‘Boris is inked for sure, but no sticks,’ Clara says. ‘He’s not from the Elfors. Boris is from the Chastity.’

‘He’s from the Chastity? Why would you live in the Elfors?’

‘Penny just said, honey. It’s home.’

‘Nuts,’ Yasmine says, shaking her head at them. ‘Wouldn’t catch me going back,’ she adds firmly, with a pang of homesickness surging through that makes her want to go back right now.

She frowns at the confusing thoughts and emotions. Not getting what they mean. ‘I’m never going back.’ She means to announce it, but it doesn’t come out as defiantly as she wished. Sam stays quiet, too. Frowning gently at the tattoos, and what Penny and Clara just said about the Elfors being home, and the concept of having loyalty to a place. Sam doesn’t miss his cabin or his airlock one bit, so it’s a strange notion for him.

‘Anyway,’ Penny says. ‘Let’s get moving. Yassy, we’ll pop into the Hutongs to see Leo. Sam, can you get back on the net and see how Abdul’s trending.’

‘Yeah, sorry, Penny. I’m not staying in a hotel room again all day,’ Sam says.

‘Damn straight,’ Clara says.

‘Okay. Er . . . do you want to come with us then? You can grab a coffee while Yassy and I see Leo. Deal?’

21

Tuesday Morning

The Beijing

‘This is insane!’ Yasmine shouts as they thread through the packed lanes of New Beijing. ‘It’s busier than Neon City after payday.’

‘New Year,’ Penny shouts back. ‘And it’ll get worse than this. They’ve booked Chi-Chi to play before the fireworks, apparently.’

Yasmine wafts her face at the humidity and remembers the hot zones in the Elfors where the cooling ducts don’t work so well, and how people would go there if they got a chill.

‘Thank god,’ Penny gasps a few moments later when they drop down into New Shanghai with a sudden lessening of noise and crowds. ‘We can’t get into the Hutongs from here. We’ll take the next stairwell.’

‘Why bother? I thought you said Abdul was ditching trade over here,’ Yasmine asks.

‘Leo’s not a retailer. He’s a trader like Abdul. They go way back, and if we’re on the Beijing then we have to say hello and visit. Like a respect thing.’ Penny glances at Yasmine, seeing that she’s not totally understanding. ‘So you know Robby The Blind and Willy The Rake share sides of the strip in Neon for dealing, right? They’re in competition, but they get along and cover each other’s backs. And if Willy runs out then Robby subs him at cost and Willy does it back.’

‘Okay, yeah, I get it,’ Yasmine says, then turns to Sam and Clara as they near Mr Ming’s store. ‘Best tea ever in there,’ she says with a grin, then comes to a stop. ‘Penny? You seen that?’

‘What?’ Penny asks, occupied with a million thoughts as she glances over to the front of Mr Ming’s store now covered in digital graffiti. Bright reds changing into blues and greens. ‘It’s not our problem,’ Penny adds a moment later, pointing over to a holo news feed showing the protests on the Humility. ‘That is.’

‘Okay. One’s unlucky. Two’s a pattern,’ Yasmine says a moment later, as Mrs Sing’s storefront comes into view, with Yolo and Sun outside erasing the same graffiti off with digital lasers.

‘Oh, hey!’ Sun says, with mock joy at seeing Yasmine. ‘What’s up? Run out of cunt pills?’

‘Sun!’ Yolo snaps, as Penny snorts a laugh, then coughs to hide it, thinking she is so stealing the line.

‘We saw the same at Mr Ming’s,’ Penny says.

‘Yeah, but we’re still your best customers, right?’ Sun says, giving Penny a look. ‘Who are you two?’

‘Hey. I’m Sam, and this is Clara. Sorry about your shop. Do you need a hand cleaning it?’

‘Aw, that’s sweet of you. Thank you, Sam. We’ll be okay. But you could push that bitch out of an airlock if you see one.’

‘Er, that’s my boyfriend,’ Yasmine points out, with a smug look.

‘Oh god, I’m so sorry, Sam. Have you always been attracted to idiots?’

‘Okay! We’ll leave you to it,’ Penny says as Clara starts dragging Yasmine away.

‘Bye, Yassy!’ Sun calls with a huge fake smile. ‘Sam. Holo me, yeah? We’ll have hot sex.’

‘She’s baiting you,’ Clara says, with an arm looped about Yasmine’s midriff as they stride off.

‘Well. This is going great,’ Penny says, shooting looks at Yasmine then back to Yolo’s store, before all four snap heads over to Abdul’s angry voice booming out.

‘Jean Schrieber is a damn idiot if he thinks I sell weapons. The shit that comes out of his mouth is worse than any fart bomb!’

‘Oh god, he’s starting to swear,’ Penny says with a panicked voice as she rushes on. ‘Let’s just get this done.’

They reach the next stairwell and head down to a wider platform as Sam glances up at the sign fixed to the bulkhead above them.

The Hutongs

A wide lane feeds them into a twisting walkway bordered by stores and bars, and a display of Chinese culture without the glitz and glamour of a tourist zone. A bit like the Elfors. That vibe. That essence. Harder-looking men and meaner-faced women eyeing them as they go by.

Smaller walkways stretching off to the sides that feed back into the main one, and nearly every face is Chinese or Asian, too. A few Westerners are dotted about. A few African and Indian faces as well, but they look the same as Penny and her group. Businesspeople moving with purpose, and all of them escorted by guards or guides.

Two Indian women in smart mesh suits stand talking to a Chinese woman. All of them engaged in serious dialogue with mini-mes over their shoulders, but it’s the guard standing to their side that catches Sam’s eye. Tall and big with a certain look about him. Hard-faced and capable. Sam quickly swipes his system to activate the invisible UV light, and aims it over the guard. Two stick-figures boxing each other on the back of each hand.

Garish lights ahead, and they pass into an area that hints of being more like Neon City with clubs and bars pumping out loud music and signs for massage services in English and other languages.

‘Those are new,’ Penny says, pointing at the flashing and strobing lights fitted outside the clubs. ‘And that,’ she adds, nodding to the front of a club, with a selection of attractive men and women outside ready to offer services.

‘It’s like the strip,’ Yasmine says.

‘Okay, we’re just down there,’ Penny says, coming to a stop next to a side walkway.

‘You sure you don’t want me to come?’ Clara asks, as a guy rushes out from the unit ahead, his arms out wide and a huge grin stretched across his face.

‘PENNY!’

‘Hi, Leo,’ Penny says as Leo pulls her into a hug. ‘This is Yassy.’

‘YASSY! HI. I’M LEO. GREAT TO MEET YOU. How is Abdul? Is he well? I see him on the net. On the news. The Elfors, eh? Poor guy. Poor Abdul. Politics, eh. I said to him. I said, Abdul! What are you doing? Why are you going into politics? He said, Leo. I want to score big! Haha. Come in. Come in. We’ll have drinks. Yassy, you’re very beautiful!’

‘She hates being told that,’ Penny says, not realising her volume has gone up too.

‘She hates it? Why? A compliment is a compliment. Penny is also beautiful. Do you like my offices, Yassy?’ Leo asks as Yasmine notices that nobody else bats an eye at his extraordinary voice. ‘Abdul has old offices. I’ve seen them! In the Elfors. I’ve been there. To Neon City. His offices are old. They’re falling down.’

‘They’re great,’ Yasmine says, thinking this Leo seems about the same age as Abdul. Fifties or maybe older, but it’s hard to tell when there’s no sun to age people. He’s a bit plumper than Abdul, too. Heavier, and with a belly on him. Thinning hair and a round face. Shrewd eyes though, despite the jovial bluster. Yasmine clocked that the second she saw him.

‘I’ll show you around, then we can have a drink,’ he says, ushering them on, with his fingers brushing Yasmine’s backside.

‘Oi, handsy. Get a smack for that.’

‘I love her! Penny! I love her. She’s not afraid of me!’

‘Yassy’s not afraid of anything,’ Penny says.

‘A feisty one, eh? Abdul chooses good workers. Penny is a good worker. I said to her. Penny, come and work for me! I’ll pay you double. Big cabin. Unlimited showers. Anything you want. She said no! I said, but Penny, I have modern offices. Abdul has old offices. I’ve seen them. Come through. This is my warehouse.’

‘Damn,’ Yasmine mouths at the sight of the huge room packed full of workers. Clean and bright and ultra-modern with holo screens glowing up everywhere. Distinct sections used to store drugs and medicines. Others for fashion clothes, work clothes and wholesale cleaning supplies. Wheeled delivery cages fresh from shuttles filled with crates and boxes of goods being unpacked by workers.

‘Got your fingers in a lot of pies then,’ Yasmine remarks as Leo bursts out laughing.

‘I know this idiom! It means a person who does many things. I do many things! Like Abdul, eh? Look!’ He rushes off into a section filled with racks of hanging garments. ‘Humility fashions! From last season before the new greens and peaches came out. My customers are saying Leo! Leo, they say. We want the new seasons! Why can’t we have the new season? I tell them. I say the Humility has exclusivity for the new season. But for how long? The Elfors. On the net. The riots. The murders. People are scared of the Humility. But come. Come. Do you want something? A gift from Leo? What do you like? Do you want a new dress? Something tight, yes? Something sexy for sexy ladies. You tell me. You say, Leo! Leo, I want this. Give it to me. And I’ll say but there is a price, yes? There is always a price.’ He winks and laughs again, but those shrewd eyes watch them closely. ‘In business we must weigh what we want against what we are prepared to pay. And sometimes, we must be prepared to pay a high price to have what we want.’

They reach another set of doors and pass into Leo’s private offices. Yasmine glances around to see open double doors leading into another room filled with men being addressed by a woman. Three of the guys with fresh injuries.

‘Looks sore,’ Yasmine calls out, nodding at a man with his arm in a sling. The woman turns quickly, locking her eyes on Yasmine, who frowns with a prickle of recognition.

‘He doesn’t speak English,’ Yuey says, moving towards the door.

‘I said it looks sore,’ Yasmine repeats in perfect Mandarin, as everyone in the other room looks over. ‘Is it broken?’

The guy hesitates, seemingly nervous. ‘The elbow,’ he says reluctantly.

‘Clumsy idiots fell down a gantry while they were drunk,’ Yuey says, reaching out for the panel to shut the door. ‘Excuse us.’

‘Have we met? You seem familiar,’ Yasmine says.

Yuey smiles and arches an eyebrow. ‘No, I’m just Chinese. We all look the same,’ she says as the door swishes shut.

‘Haha! We’re in the Hutongs! It gets lively here,’ Leo says, casting a quick dark look at the door. ‘We have punters too! Fight, sometimes. It is what it is, eh? Come come. A drink!’

‘I saw on the way in,’ Penny says. ‘It’s turning into a mini Neon City out there, Leo.’

‘Do you like it? We have a party zone now. I make it safe. Like Abdul did for the Neon. But come! A drink. Elfor Juice?’

‘Way too early for that,’ Yasmine says.

‘Business is certainly looking good for you, Leo,’ Penny says a moment later once the tea is served. ‘You’re expanding by the looks of it.’

‘Times are hard,’ Leo says with a startling change to a look of worry. ‘But tell me, what do you know? Are things bad? What about the Elfors? Will they seal them off? I need to know, Penny. What about Abdul? Is he still trading?’

‘Yes, of course he is. Nothing will really change on that front,’ Penny says.

‘But I hear things. I hear he’s losing trade. I said to him: Abdul, you cannot be in many places at once.’

‘No. That is very true,’ Penny says, choosing her words. ‘And yes, there may be changes while his political career takes more focus, but to offset that our team is expanding. Hence why Yassy is now working with me.’

‘But you are her supervisor, yes? You can tell her what to do. Tell me, Yassy. How long have you worked for Penny?’

Yasmine sips her tea and understands that Leo is probing to find something to exploit. He’s already said he wants Penny to work for him and if he can create a rift or cause an issue, he might stand a better chance of recruiting her – and that alone tells her this guy is a lot shrewder than he’s making out. ‘Not long,’ she replies easily. ‘Nice tea, though.’

‘As good as Mr Ming’s?’

‘God, no,’ she says with a grin. ‘Have you tried it? Damn. That’s good tea. Mr Ming needs to open a tea shop. But hey, you must be getting the same issues though, right? Bad deliveries and missing stock? How the hell do you put up with that?’

‘Customs,’ Leo says, throwing his hands up.

‘Ah, man, I’m new to this. But isn’t customs when the stock comes into the ship?’

‘Customs are charged at point of entry,’ Penny says.

‘Got it. But the missing stock. That wouldn’t be from the customs would it?’

‘No. That’s likely to be a supply source issue,’ Penny explains.

‘Right,’ Yasmine says, blowing air from her cheeks. ‘Lot to learn. But we visited some of Abdul’s retailers yesterday. Er . . . Mr Ming and Mrs Sing. And who was that guy? Wen-Li? He was in bits. And honestly, none of them were happy. All of them are missing stock. Bad deliveries. Stuff not turning up or they’re being sent the wrong stock. It’s crippling them and they’re ready to jack it in, but your scale is huge compared to them, so you must be getting hammered.’

Leo shakes his head and blasts air with clear irritation. ‘This is what business is. We all suffer.’

‘But how? I mean. You’re a big fish, right? You’re the main guy over here. You’ve got guards and a warehouse and look at this office! You must know what’s causing all the issues.’

‘It’s the Ark,’ Leo says, puffing up a little from Yasmine’s flattery.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Leo means the Ark is notorious for creating confusions with orders, and it’s impossible to get through to the right department to sort things out. It’s so big and has so many systems in place, and the whole fleet buys from them.’

‘Right. Sure,’ Yasmine says, still not getting it but not wanting to ask more questions and look stupid.

‘But tell me,’ Leo says, motioning at Penny. ‘The elections. Do you think Abdul will get elected?’

‘He’s already elected, Leo.’

‘No! I mean higher. Will he go higher? And if he does, will he push for amnesty?’

‘For the Elfors?’ Penny asks. ‘Er, sure. He’s always campaigned for that.’

‘But giving thousands of people registration will affect business across the fleet!’

‘Leo, it’s fine. I honestly don’t think much would change. It would become like the Hutongs. Safer and controlled, but people wouldn’t rush off the ship. Where would they go? Who would employ them?’

‘We’ll send them over here to see you,’ Yasmine says, as Leo looks ready to fire up before bursting out laughing.

‘I love her! Yassy. Come and work for me! What do you want? Name it. Anything.’

‘Wow. You’ll regret that. I want the biggest cabin on the ship and unlimited shopping and four weeks all-inclusive vacation to the Ab-Spa.’

‘Deal!’ Leo booms, clapping his hands on his thighs as he laughs.

‘Well. Your company has been delightful, Leo, and it is always an absolute pleasure to see you,’ Penny says, smoothly bringing the meeting to a close.

‘Have Abdul call me. Tell him Leo needs to talk. Is he over for New Year?’

‘Actually, Leo, Abdul wants to hold a shindig over here. Any ideas on where we can pitch up? We’ll need to be close to Confucius Square if you know anywhere. And, of course, you’ll be our number one VIP guest.’

‘How about Ghost Street? That good enough for you?’

‘Ghost Street? Wow. Abdul will be thrilled. Thank you so much.’

‘It’s nothing. Me and Abdul, eh? We go back. We look after each other. Traders look after each other. Come, come. This way out.’

Yuey listens from the other room as her uncle leads the guests out, and waits until the door opens again, with Leo staring in. ‘Are they briefed?’ he asks curtly, the jovial bluster now gone. ‘I want Zhang dealt with.’

‘Uncle!’ she calls out as he turns away and rushes after him into his office.

‘Zhang, Yuey. I want Zhang sorted.’

‘We will. But listen . . . that woman. Yassy. Er . . .’ Leo freezes, closing his eyes as Yuey winces and keeps going. ‘I may have tried to rob her the other night.’

‘Yuey,’ Leo groans.

‘But I don’t think she connected me. But cool cool, good that’s out in the open. Best to be honest about these things. And I did tell you about Zhang. And that I had sex with him.’

‘Yuey! Just get him dealt with.’

‘I will!’

* * *

‘You all good?’ Clara asks, walking out with Sam to meet Yasmine and Penny as they emerge from the side walkway. ‘Got you coffees.’

‘Oh. thank you,’ Penny says as they set off. ‘Yassy? You good?’

‘Yeah, I’m just thinking. So, listen. The Ark is where everything comes from. Like all the drugs and clothes and all the stuff the retailers have. So maybe the issues are coming from there.’

‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ Penny says, grinning at her friend. ‘You know Yasmine once spent a week on surveillance to figure out who was stealing our rat pelts. We used to hang them next to this hot vent to dry out and once in a while one would go missing. She literally camped out for a whole week. Wouldn’t move.’

‘Who was it?’ Sam asks.

‘Other rats,’ Penny laughs as Yasmine rolls her eyes. ‘But Defective Dufont was on the case. The Elfor Rat Inspector . . .’

‘Oh fuck off.’ Yasmine laughs. ‘I’m just interested in how it all works.’

‘Well, see, one rat takes the pelt of another dead rat and—’

‘I’ll dead rat you in a minute,’ Yasmine says as they step from the stairwell back into New Shanghai.

‘I think it is a shocking use of profanity and an indication of Abdul’s true nature . . .’

‘Oh, shit,’ Penny says on seeing another news feed showing Jean Schrieber mid-interview.

‘The man is as violent as every other Elforist. He’s called Abdul the Angry for Fleet’s sake! And the fact he sexually assaulted an innocent item of furniture only speaks of the depravity of the man . . .’

‘I’m sorry, Councillor Schrieber,’ Kristi Carter says, cutting in. ‘Did you just say an innocent item of furniture?’

‘It is well documented that Abdul had sex with a table. The whole fleet knows about. It was run on every network! The man had sex with a table, for god’s sake!’

‘Sure, but I don’t think the table’s consent has ever been brought into question before.’

‘Did anyone ask it? Why is that funny? This is not funny! The man is a sick pervert!’

‘I’m sorry! I need a . . . oh my god . . . Teddy, back to you. I need a moment . . .’

‘That’s brilliant! I can use that!’ Sam says quickly, rushing off the wrong way as Clara turns him about.

Back at the hotel, Sam brings screens up and Penny and Clara kick their shoes off as Abdul’s form blooms up on a holo call.

‘Did you fucking hear that?’ he shouts out, clapping his hands. ‘An innocent item of furniture! Sam, tell me you can use that. Do something funny with it.’

‘Jesus,’ Penny says, rubbing her forehead. ‘We can’t use a joke about sexually assaulting a table.’

‘We fucking can!’ Abdul shouts in obvious excitement as yet another call comes in. This time to Yasmine, with Lonny’s form popping up to join the already cramped room.

‘Lonny!’ Abdul calls out. ‘How many got up? Tell me some good news.’

‘Loads. It worked brilliantly,’ she says, before wincing. ‘But now they’re stuck up there and those signs are going up all over the place. They’ve got nowhere to go between shifts.’

‘What signs?’ Penny asks as Sam detaches an image of glowing sign in 3-D by the entrance to an eatery.

Elforists will Not be served!

in loving memory of Randolph & Mahatma

‘That’s no good,’ Abdul says as Sven plonks a bowl of porridge down on his table outside the café, frowning into the holo feed showing the hotel room.

‘Sven,’ Yasmine calls out. ‘How you fixed for feeding a few dozen hungry Elforists?’

Sven doesn’t react. He doesn’t do anything other than give her a gnarly look before walking off.

‘Haha! Love you, Sven! That’s a yes, Lonny. But no nicking!’

‘Yassy, you’re an angel. Thank you! Abdul, thank you!’

‘Jesus. Where do we start on all this?’ Penny asks when Lonny cuts the call.

‘We start by hammering the living shit out of Jean,’ Abdul says. ‘Sam, get on it.’

‘Whoa, hang on. I just told Sam he can’t touch the table comment – that kind of thing is toxic.’

‘This whole fucking mess is toxic,’ Abdul fires back.

The discussion gets underway as Yasmine quietly slips out, thinking about shuttles and cargos and supply chains and deliveries. Why that is so important to her, she doesn’t quite know. Only that it is. Just like when the rat pelts kept disappearing, and so Defective Dufont slips out to get on the case of the missing stock and without a passing thought to the code.

22

Tuesday

Level 1

The Humility

Helga, however, does worry about the code. And on top of that, she also now feels very isolated. That started earlier when she called her aides to organise a trip to Level 30 to conduct interviews. The call went unanswered and she went out to her anteroom to find it empty and silent.

She called one of them up on holo.

‘Ma’am, I’m so sorry. They said you’d be informed.’

‘Informed of what?’

‘That we’re being reassigned to general duties. Captain Jefferson ordered us to help with the increased workload because of the crisis. Haven’t you got anyone?’

Helga had not been informed. But she smiled and rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I was told. Forgive me. I was on autopilot.’

She cut the call and figured Pierre was doing it in the expectation that she’d go rushing into his offices demanding her aides back. But she didn’t do that. Instead, she walked up to the guard station.

‘Roger. I need to visit Level 30,’ she stated, as the Level 1 head of security just stared at her.

‘Why are you telling me? The elevators are down there.’

She bit the anger down and remained calm. ‘I need a security detail.’

Roger tutted and shook his head. ‘Sorry. We’re busy today.’

‘I am the Vice-Captain, Roger.’

‘Yes, you are.’ His tone became impudent. Rude, even. He eyeballed her. Unafraid. Unbothered – and, if anything – he seemed to be enjoying it.

‘And as Vice-Captain I am to have a security detail.’

‘Of course. But you need to apply for one. In advance. Or ask an aide to do it for you . . .’ he added, with a smirk.

She returned to her offices with her hands shaking and a tremble in her legs. She was being isolated and punished for not getting the code back. The change in Pierre was striking. He’d been an angry old man for a long time – gruff and obtuse, belligerent, too – but not like this. Or at least, his cruelty was never targeted at her before.

Something was changing him. Or someone.

* * *

‘And I ask this simple question with the greatest of respect,’ Councillor Trudy Marlowe says during an interview, against the backdrop of the protest. ‘Where are our leaders? Where is Captain Jefferson? Where is Vice-Captain Sveinsson? We’re in the grip of a ship-wide crisis! The Vice-Captain was willing to speak to the Elforists after the murders and rapes. Where is she now?’

‘Folks. I have to agree with Councillor Marlowe and ask the same question. Just where are the leaders of this ship?’ Kristi asks into the camera.

‘And cut in three, two . . . we’re done,’ Rona says.

‘Thank you, Councillor Marlowe,’ Kristi says, already moving away.

‘It was me that said it,’ Trudy says quickly. ‘No more excuses. I said it. In the meeting.’

‘Sure. I’ll keep that in mind,’ Kristi says, smiling at the idiot woman who has no idea of the damage she’s doing to thousands of lives.

Trudy smiles weakly before walking off to the edge of the protest, where she looks small and fragile. Kristi spots Jorgey Raynor nearby – ‘Chief!’

‘Still enjoying our clusterfuck, Kristi? I heard your ratings are.’

‘Ouch, no need for that. I’m just covering the news, Chief. Anyway, can I interview you?’

‘No.’

‘Why not? You’re the chief of police.’

‘And this isn’t a policing matter. This is a political issue. The Humility police are here to facilitate a lawful protest. That’s it.’

Kristi frowns at the curt tone and offish manner. ‘Okay. But you know, you could say that on air. What the hell?’ Kristi says as Jorgey walks off. ‘Hang on a sec. Can we go for a coffee?’

‘What?’

‘A coffee. Me and you. A timeout. Two gals having a chat.’

‘Fuck off, Kristi.’

‘Okay, okay! That was stupid. But I’ve got some questions.’

‘What questions?’ Jorgey snaps, checking the time. ‘I need to get on.’

‘No! Wait. The party. Mahatma was there all night.’

‘We know, thank you.’

‘She didn’t leave,’ Kristi says, rushing to keep up. ‘The witnesses say she was in the offices for the robbery, but she didn’t leave. I checked the footage and Mahatma doesn’t leave. And she was way too drunk to rob anything.’

Jorgey knows she has to cut the questions off. ‘What is it you wanted, Kristi?’

Kristi falters, frowning at the question. ‘The truth, I guess. How can Mahatma be in two places at once?’

‘I don’t know. She’s dead. We can’t ask her,’ Jorgey says, walking off.

‘There’s something else going on,’ Kristi says.

‘Just cover the protest, Kristi,’ Jorgey says quietly, not looking back.

‘Kristi! The stores?’ Rona calls. ‘Kasim is going nuts. He said people are getting bored of the protest. He wants something fresh . . .’

Kristi sighs heavily, suddenly feeling very cynical and washed out. But she also knows ratings dictate everything, because even FleetNewsCast is owned by someone. And that someone wants to make money by selling advertising space. She turns towards Rona, catches sight of an older man rushing into a lane ahead of her, and sets off after him.

‘Fuck’s sake, Kristi!’ Rona says.

‘Back in a mo,’ Kristi calls, rushing after Erik The Rolls. The older man she interviewed the other night who couldn’t get up to work. He must have slipped through when the fart bomb went off. She rounds a corner, but pulls up short on seeing him fall in with a bigger group of Elforists, all heading the same direction.

‘Don’t bunch up,’ Dilbert calls. ‘Spread out so it’s not obvious.’

She follows the Elforist crowd as they head out of the retail zone and over to Colin, at the entrance to Sven’s Eatery, ushering them in.

‘Brilliant,’ Kristi whispers. Kasim will love this. This is fresh material right here. Abdul the Angry using his own café to feed stranded Elforists.

‘No! Sorry. I don’t want trouble,’ a voice says, making Kristi turn to see a woman blocking the door of a noodle bar to stop another woman in a brown shirt going inside. A 3-D sign glowing at her side.

NO Elforists!

in loving memory of Randolph & Mahatma

‘I’m not from the Elfors yeah,’ the woman says, but even Kristi can see she is. They stand out. There’s a look about them. The way they dress. Cheap old clothing, or fashions from seasons ago. They look weathered too, leaner and harder, and Kristi recognises the woman from when she interviewed the Elforists. Stella, that was it. She cleans the toilets.

‘I can’t serve you. You’ll have to find somewhere else.’

‘There is nowhere else. I won’t eat them here, yeah. I promise . . . and I won’t tell no one.’

‘Love, I’m sorry. I can’t. There’s too much going on,’ the noodle bar owner says with regret in her voice. Like she’s ashamed.

‘Sorry for the trouble . . .’ Stella looks exhausted too, with worry etched on her face, but she nods with understanding as she turns away.

‘Read the sign. No Elfor scum.’ A group of young men nearby, puffed up and angry. One in the centre shouting out.

‘They can’t read, can they,’ another one says.

‘It’s fine, guys,’ the owner says. ‘Just a misunderstanding.’

‘Hey! She said fuck off, scum,’ the main guy shouts, marching over with his group. ‘What you doing up here anyway?’

‘Fucking rat.’

‘Elfor scum.’

‘Sorry. I’ll go, yeah,’ Stella says, backing away.

‘I said why are you up here?’ the main guy asks, blocking her path. ‘You’re banned from coming up.’

‘Hey guys, just leave it,’ the owner says as Kristi brings a camera up to start recording.

‘Folks, this is Kristi Carter live on board the Humility, just yards from another angry confrontation . . .’

‘Ma’am, it’s fine. We got this,’ the man says, waving the noodle bar owner inside. ‘She won’t bother you again.’

‘She wasn’t bothering me!’

‘You support the Elfors then? That right, is it? Child rapists and murderers?’

‘Skanky bitch,’ a woman shouts over. ‘Don’t touch her, lads. You’ll catch something.’

‘Yeah, they’re all diseased,’ someone else shouts.

‘How did you get up?’ the man demands, glaring down at Stella. ‘Did you set that bomb off? Are you a fucking terrorist?’

‘No, I . . . I don’t want trouble, yeah. I’ll just go, yeah . . .’

‘I don’t want trouble, yeah . . . I’ll just go yeah,’ someone mimics. ‘I don’t know how to read, yeah . . . I’ll fuck anyfin’ for food, yeah . . .’

‘She probably stabbed Mahatma.’

‘Did she stab Mahatma?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘That skanky bitch stabbed Mahatma.’

‘I didn’t do nothin’, yeah,’ Stella says, panicking at the frightening escalation of mob mentality. A quickening inside Kristi’s chest. A sick feeling within her gut.

‘Murderer!’

‘Terrorist scum!’

‘Why are you up here? Are you looking for someone else to stab?’

‘I ain’t . . .’

‘FUCKING MURDERER!’

‘Hey!’ the owner shouts, as the man chest-bumps Stella.

‘FUCK OFF!’ the man yells, making the owner wilt back inside her business as he turns back to Stella. ‘FUCKING MURDERER.’

‘Okay. This is getting serious. Kasim, you there? Call the police,’ Kristi says.

‘ARE YOU A FUCKING TERRORIST?’ the man screams, urged on by the crowd. More people running over. ‘I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, SCUM!’ the man shouts, grabbing her arm to pull her deeper into the crowd.

‘Hey!’ Kristi yells as Stella gets swarmed. A dig from the side. A foot comes out, tripping her over. She sprawls but gets yanked up by the main guy gripping her arm. ‘HEY!’ Kristi yells again. ‘Shit!’ She turns and runs back to the end of the lane. ‘COLIN! QUICK!’

Colin snaps his head over and starts running as Kristi sprints back into the lane to see the woman go down again with feet lashing out, driving into her sides and head. ‘GET OFF HER!’ Kristi yells, running into the fray with her virtual camera held above her shoulder. A fury in the air and violence rippling out as more people run towards the noise. Flash rumours heard. Mahatma’s murderer has been caught. An Elfor was attacking someone. ‘SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING,’ Kristi shouts as an elbow hits her side, making her stagger and gasp as she glimpses Stella curled into a ball. Kicks going in, hard and brutal. Someone stamps down, and Stella screams, her face twisting in agony. Kristi screams too. Unable to get there. Unable to reach her. Stella’s head snaps back and her arms go limp as the crowd seems to compress from the combined forces of Colin, Pasha and Boris slamming into them, and Abdul wrenching people aside to get to Stella.

Kristi slumps against a wall, gasping for air as Abdul and his men push the attackers away. Shouts from behind, as Dilbert and more Elforists charge into the lane.

‘NO!’ Abdul yells, rushing to block them.

‘FUCKING MURDERERS!’ The crowd wilts back, throwing beakers and food cartons and anything else they can grab.

‘Get her out of here,’ Abdul orders, dragging Stella over to Dilbert and the others, pushing them away as Pasha, Boris and Colin form a line with voltage sticks out. The crowd suddenly doesn’t like the odds and keeps to a distance, yelling and screaming insults as the police finally arrive, looking clueless and confused and yelling at everyone to go.

‘Kristi! Kristi!’ A shout in Kristi’s ear as Kasim’s voice finally breaks through the bedlam. ‘KRISTI? CAN YOU HEAR ME?’

‘Yes. I can hear you . . .’ She turns the camera to her face, shaken and dishevelled. ‘I’m okay. I’m okay . . . I need five. Cut back to Teddy please . . .’ She ends transmission and drops her head back against the wall.

A moment later and a bizarre degree of normality returns as new tourists stroll into the area without a clue what just happened. The noodle bar owner steps out and looks around, spotting Kristi. They make eye contact. Neither says anything, but the woman drops her head with a look of great shame, and quietly heads back inside.

Kristi feels it too, but she doesn’t know why. Only that the Elfor thing is getting worse by the hour. Which is great for ratings, but why isn’t Helga or Pierre stepping in? It’s almost like they’re letting it happen. But why would they? That doesn’t make any sense at all.

There’s something else going on, Kristi can feel it in her bones. But Jorgey shut her down and Zhang Woo is on the other side of the fleet, and thinking of Zhang brings her back to the original issue. She slept with Zhang right after he found Mahatma, and if that ever comes out, she can kiss her career goodbye.

The question is: which is more important? Knowing the truth or self-preservation?

23

Tuesday

The Beijing

Self-preservation is also on Zhang’s mind as he sits in a café drinking coffee and avoiding being seen by Leo’s men or his own family, while also trying to stalk Yasmine for Helga, who may either kill him or give him another hand job.

Which is all very messed up. But then, everything is messed up.

He’s back here for a start. On his home ship, and he had sex with Yuey. Which was both wonderful and awful at the same time. Like a reminder of a time when things seemed happier and cleaner, but it’s also brought back memories he’d long suppressed. Memories that make him shift uncomfortably.

He was young when he joined a gang. He was different from everyone in his family and the gang gave him the acceptance a young mind so desperately needs. Plus, he wanted to piss his family off.

Yuey was in a gang too. Only problem was they weren’t in the same gang, and their gangs were sworn enemies, fighting over turf in the Hutongs and for patches in New Shanghai and New Beijing.

They’d fight all the time – scrappy skirmishes that seemed so important. So vital. It consumed them all. But as time rolled on they got older, and those fights got more serious. More violent, and Zhang excelled at it. He was tough and fast and able to take a hit and keep going. Which is how he got so skilled – but so did Yuey.

Problem was, everyone knew her parents were dead, and Loud Leo Lin was raising her. Everyone feared Leo, so nobody ever really went too hard on Yuey. Which only irritated her. And in turn, she kept targeting Zhang, as he was the other gang’s best fighter.

He thinks back to it now. To that day. They were what, Fifteen? Sixteen, maybe? His gang was ambushed in a narrow lane in the Hutongs by Yuey’s gang armed with flexi-pipes. They starburst and ran for it, everyone running in different directions. Zhang remembers having four or five on his six. He ran fast. Weaving in and out of cabins and doubling back to take the attackers out one at a time. He dropped what he thought was the last one and got zapped in the back. He spun around to see Yuey with a voltage stick. She ran off, he went after her into an industrial laundry unit. Steam in the air. Clothes hanging everywhere. Zhang went after her. She backed up into a corner, her eyes fixed on his as he advanced.

Zhang remembers it so well. The look on her face. Defiance. Fear. Excitement. He remembers the sweat gliding down her cheeks and the way he came to a stop. Not attacking her. She didn’t attack him either. She just dropped the voltage stick.

That was the first time. It was clumsy and awkward. Neither really knew what they were doing. They didn’t have sex. They just kissed and fumbled and groped, then panicked and ran away from each other.

A few days later his gang ambushed Yuey’s. She ran again. Zhang chased her and found her in the same corner. Backed up against the same wall.

They didn’t have sex for months. But once they did it became an addiction. It was all so forbidden. So wrong. They had to fight and hate each other and fuck in secret. They were in love and in lust. Time went by. They grew older. More experienced. Tougher. Harder. The gang warfare peaked and became incredibly violent, but still they sneaked into the Temple to hide in the shadows as they moved from children to adults and, as is often the way, the thing they had became destructive.

Zhang heard Yuey was sleeping with another guy. Zhang went after him and beat the guy up. Yuey went nuts. She said she only kissed him. Zhang couldn’t control the jealousy inside – things were spiralling out of control. He got drunk and fucked a hooker. His gang knew and told everyone. Yuey broke her nose and jaw – she couldn’t control the jealousy either. They fucked harder. Angrier. They did things to spite each other. Fucking people to hurt the other, and hurting anyone in their path. The passion between them became an awful, dark addiction for both of them. Yuey found a woman Zhang had fucked, and beat her with a flexi-pipe. Zhang broke the legs of a guy that Yuey slept with. It had to end. They’d kill someone or each other. Zhang never once laid a hand on Yuey, but she did to him. Wild and full of fury. And somewhere along the way, Zhang realised he was attractive to other people. Yuey couldn’t stand it. She fucked people to hurt him. Zhang fucked because he couldn’t stop. The police were coming down hard, and that put pressure on Zhang. Leo was getting involved too and taking control of Yuey’s gang, which put pressure on her. People were getting hurt. Bones were getting broken. Blades were being used.

Then Yuey killed a woman. Everyone knows it was an accident – the woman slipped and fell from a gantry after Yuey punched her. But still. The end had come. Leo found out. His men caught Zhang that same night and beat him for several hours before dumping him at a shuttle docking port with a simple message.

If you ever come back, we will kill you.

And now he’s back. Sipping coffee in an eatery in New Beijing while keeping one eye on the hotel up the way. The hotel he knows Abdul uses when he comes over to the Beijing. Zhang got his police accreditation back, and it wasn’t hard to find the recorded expenses claims made by councillors. Specifically, the overnight hotel allowance, which revealed that Abdul always uses this one hotel. Which is where Zhang figured he’d put Penny and Sam and Yassy.

He was right too. He saw them come out earlier with Clara and head down to New Shanghai. They went into the Hutongs. Zhang stayed in New Shanghai near the stairwell. He wasn’t going to risk walking into Leo’s home turf unless he had to. Especially knowing Yuey would tell Leo.

Zhang saw them come back up – they were laughing about something. It was strangely comforting to see. Then Penny looked straight at him as she watched the holo feed between them. He slid under the table and waited for them to go, then got told off by the waitress. She was pretty. He smiled at her and said sorry. She softened and said it’s cool and was he new in town and did he want to, you know, maybe meet up later or something?

Zhang willed himself to say no but ended up taking her details then ran after the others and fought through the crowds, just in time to see them go into the hotel.

Now he sits and waits. And watches. And drinks coffee while that itch inside gets worse. His addiction rearing up. He should take more Calm-A-Mind, but it makes him dull and slow. He needs to be sharp. He’ll just have to suck it up and resist the urge.

‘Hey, mind if I?’ A woman breaks his thoughts, motioning to the chair next to him in the busy café.

‘Sure,’ he says.

She sits down with a coffee and a sigh. ‘You here for New Year?’ she asks because Zhang has that way about him; an ability to make people to feel comfortable to say hi and start talking. ‘Nice to have someone to sit with. I keep getting hit on,’ she adds with a smile. ‘Guys get a thing for Asian girls when they come over here. I’m not even Chinese, I’m Korean. I’m Wendy by the way. You?’

Zhang stares at her. At her smile and that look in her eyes. She’s a businesswoman – he can tell by her clothes. Bored and lonely on a ship full of happy tourists. She’s pretty too.

A few minutes of small talk. Is he married? Does he have a partner? She’s on business. It gets lonely. She’s married but it’s not going well. They separated because he doesn’t fuck her. Now she’s strictly NSA. No Strings Attached. She smiles again, searching his eyes. He knows he shouldn’t. He’s working. But it starts clawing inside. The need for a release, for a fix. How does this happen? He’s in a café minding his own business, but she said NSA and she’s not even a hooker. He turns to gauge the distance to the toilet and mentally calculates time, adding in partial undressing. Kissing. A few gropes. Then the sex. After kisses. Awkward chat and then back here within what? Ten minutes? Maybe seven or eight if he gets on with it.

Five minutes later and she smiles and locks the toilet door. A few kisses. A few gropes. Her skirts goes up. His trousers go down. The same thing he’s done a thousand times before, but something’s different this time. He can’t focus and it doesn’t feel right, but he needs to fuck, except he doesn’t want to fuck, but he does. It feels wrong, but more wrong than it normally feels. Everything feels wrong.

‘OH MY GOD!’ the woman cries out as she orgasms, and Zhang realises he can’t come. He tries harder with his bare bum blurring away but nothing happens and in the end he fakes it and makes some noises while juddering about.

Then it’s after-kisses. Whispered words. Awkward chat. Details swapped and back out within eight and half minutes. His coffee still hot. His face bathed in sweat, and Yasmine leaving the hotel.

‘Fuck it.’ He runs out into the packed walkway. His legs a bit rubbery and his mind somewhat occupied with how he couldn’t orgasm. He always orgasms. Like loads of times a day. What does that mean?

Thankfully, it’s not hard to follow Yasmine. He stays back at a safe distance, but close enough to keep her in sight. Yassy seems to know where she’s going and finally reaches the area bordering the docking station, then heads into the concourse.

He finds a covert spot as Yasmine sits in the waiting area and stares at the airlock.

A few minutes later and the shuttle heads off into space. Another shuttle docks a short while later, and Yasmine watches the cargo with interest as it’s taken off via a separate cargo-only tube. Big metal cages on rollers, filled with boxes, crates and bags. Some with giant sacks to hold smaller items.

She finally moves when workers start dragging the cages from the concourse and out into the ship proper, towards a service door over to one side that leads to a storage and sorting area. Yasmine casually strolls over to talk to one of the workers and Zhang figures she must be planning another job to knock them off.

She finishes talking and heads back into the lanes, grabbing takeout from a food vender and going into the hotel.

Zhang figures he’ll eat too. And drink coffee. And get some Come-A-Lot-More, because of the sex he had earlier when he couldn’t orgasm. What the hell was that about? Jesus. Being here is not helping his already strung-out mind.

Too many thoughts at once make him lose focus. Something sharp presses into his back. ‘Move and I’ll stab you.’ A hard voice speaking out, close to his ear.

Zhang comes to a stop in the middle of a packed walkway with people streaming past. Music blares. Amplified vendor voices. Adverts and holo images cast light, adding to the distraction, so people pay no attention to the two men stood close together.

Another guy ahead. Dark clothes, surly-faced. Another behind him. Zhang stays still, feeling the knife pressing into his back.

‘Leo wants to talk to you,’ the man says.

‘Who’s Leo? I’m on vacation.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Zhang. You were fucking told not to come back.’

‘Friend. I have no idea what you’re on about. I’m just here for New Year.’ He looks ahead, to two more guys coming in, and tries to think of a way out.

‘You armed?’

‘Sorry, what?’ Zhang asks, screwing his face up in confusion as he tries to turn to see the guy, testing reflex and position, testing reactional speed. A gap to the side. Enough to see the display window of the store next to them. Enough to see his reflection and the guy pressing in behind. ‘Bohai! I didn’t realise it was you. You’re looking good,’ Zhang says, grinning with a nod at the store window. Bohai dares a glance over as Zhang whips forward and rotates on the spot, slamming his arm into the wrist holding the knife with enough force to make it fly from Bohai’s grip. A headbutt into the nose. A knee into his groin and Bohai drops. Zhang glances back to the see the other two closing in. He blocks and moves, but the guys keep charging.

‘Move!’ another man shouts from behind, closing in fast as Zhang sends a flurry of blows into the one armed with the flexi-pipe, breaking his nose and smashing him down. A sharp pain in his back and Zhang locks up, convulsing at a shot from a Taser. He drops, writhing on the floor as the two guys start laying in with hard kicks. Shouts and screams from shoppers and tourists, his own voice adding to the din. He kicks out, dropping one of the attackers. Pulling him down to cover his own body, using him as a shield as the guy lays in with punches. Bohai now back on his feet and running in. A dirty, sordid scrap, with shouts and yells and grunts of pain, but this isn’t the Humility and the police come quickly, driving voltage sticks into bodies.

‘NOT ME, NOT ME!’ Zhang yells out. ‘I’M A COP!’

But the voltage stick comes in anyway, driving into his belly so hard he blacks out and the last thing he thinks is that he wishes Bohai had stabbed him, because sure as shit this means he’ll see his family.

24

Tuesday Afternoon

The Beijing

‘Lunch is served,’ Yasmine says, bundling into the hotel room with her arms full of cartons. ‘It’s heaving out there . . . but guess what I found out.’

‘Hang on, Yassy,’ Penny waves her to silence and turns back to Abdul on a holo call from the storeroom at the back of the walkway outside the café. A woman on a chair, awake but woozy.

‘Is that Stella? Jesus. She okay?’ Yasmine asks.

‘I’ve got it,’ Sam calls, detaching a holo feed as everyone turns to watch the news footage.

‘Folks, this is Kristi Carter live on board the Humility, just yards from another angry confrontation . . .’

The clip plays out, all of them wincing. Especially when Stella goes down.

Abdul scowls in thought as he stares down the length of the walkway, now packed with customers. Not just Elforists, but normal people, visiting the nearly-famous café for the nearly-famous porridge and jam. ‘We’re going to have to shut the café. There’s too much risk here . . .’

Sam taps into his system and remotely accesses the café’s interface to fix a virtual camera over the entrance, giving them all a fuller view. ‘I don’t think anyone’s paying that much attention.’

He’s right, too. The walkway’s too small with everyone packed in tight, all watching things on their own systems. Chatting, eating, drinking coffee. ‘Hang on. I’ve got an idea.’ A few seconds later a holo feed blooms up against the wall, showing Chi-Chi dancing away to ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum’.

‘How are the bots doing?’ Abdul asks, after nodding at Sam’s idea.

‘Yeah, all one hundred are done,’ Sam says, earning an arched eyebrow from Penny. ‘And they’ve had no effect whatsoever, because we’re now at seventy-two per cent anti-Elfor.’

‘That’s gone up, not down,’ Penny says.

‘Because we’re not doing anything. You need thousands to have an impact on something as big as this.’

‘And what if we’re scrutinised?’ Penny asks. ‘We just need to keep our heads. Abdul, you need to condemn that attack, but no swearing. They’re baiting you to react, so stay focused and be diplomatic.’

‘I don’t know,’ Sam says, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

‘Don’t know what?’ Abdul asks.

Sam hesitates, still new to this and still not entirely comfortable with speaking out to someone like Abdul, and it’s even worse with so many people staring at him. ‘It’s just . . . Abdul is Abdul.’

‘And?’ Penny prompts when he doesn’t continue.

‘Well. He’s not Jean, is he. He’s Abdul. I mean. It’s like . . . you know, when I met Yasmine and was trying to be all smooth and tripped over my own feet and . . . it wasn’t me and . . . argh. It’s not coming out right. I just mean he’s Abdul.’ Sam falls silent with shame burning his cheeks at not being able to order his jumbled thoughts in front of other people.

‘Okay. We’ll circle back to that,’ Penny says gently. ‘Everyone happy? Good. Back to work then.’

The call cuts out as Penny sags on the spot and picks a carton of food up, staring listlessly at the skewered rat inside. Clara tucks in with a hungry murmur and Sam stares into his screens, berating himself for not being able to express what he meant. The mood in the room feels tense – the pressure showing and things moving too fast. He glances to the feed, still showing the café, and Chi-Chi against the wall.

‘Whacka whacka dum dum, the fleet goes on. Whacka dum dum, the beat goes on . . .’

He catches sight of more Elfor tattoos on the people outside the cafe. Stick-men and stick-women, and so many in freefall, too. Like they’re tumbling down. It takes him a minute until he connects it to the grav-drives always failing, and again that essence of being an Elforist seems to reach out to him.

Sam watches as Erik The Rolls gathers empty bowls while Dorka collects used coffee beakers. ‘Where do you want these, love?’ she asks Janey. ‘The washer inside, is it?’

Sam watches her head into the café and opens another camera up inside, finding himself instantly engrossed.

‘Where’s your washer, Sven?’ Dorka asks.

‘In the back. Janey! I need these to go out – they’re getting cold.’ He leans over the counter to see her chatting, and takes them himself.

‘You washing, Dorka?’ Erik calls out, carrying the empty bowls into the café.

‘In the back, Erik. Get ’em in here, love.’

Erik walks through, glancing about at the pots and pans bubbling away. ‘Looked ready to burn,’ he says when Sven rushes inside to see him stirring one of the pans. ‘Turned it down. How much into each bowl?’

‘Three ladles. One spoon of jam.’

‘Jam in after?’

‘Yeah, otherwise the porridge covers it. Janey! More to go out. Fuck’s sake. She’s chatting again.’

‘You leave her alone,’ Dorka says, pushing past him to grab the full bowls. ‘Pretty thing like that should be chatting. She your missus, is she? Done alright there, haven’t you? She’s got a nice shape. Nice curves. Huge tits, too. What’s her name again, Janey is it?’

‘Janey,’ Sven says, already back to his sea of porridge.

‘Janey Big Tits,’ Dorka says, walking out.

‘Not Janey Big Tits!’ Sven calls with a grimace as Sam snorts a laugh.

‘Janey, love? Where these going?’ Dorka calls out.

Janey blinks at Dorka holding bowls of porridge, and thinks to say she really shouldn’t be doing that, as someone brushes by.

‘Sorry, miss. Can I just get under there?’ Dilbert says, moving past her to sweep under a vacated table. ‘Marko, grab a cloth and give it a wipe down.’

‘Alright, Dil,’ Mild Marko says, moving out from the end of the walkway. ‘Dorka? Where’s the cloths kept?’

‘In the back I think,’ Dorka says. ‘Check with Janey though.’

‘Which Janey? Our Janey?’ Marko asks.

‘What’s that?’ Janey Dead Leg asks, limping out of the toilet.

‘No! Not our Janey. I meant that Janey. Janey Big Tits,’ Dorka says.

‘Wish mine we’re like that,’ Janey Dead Leg says, walking past with a nod at Janey’s chest. ‘Gorgeous hair too.’

Janey looks down at her own chest while figuring at least they didn’t call her Ginger Janey, or Fat Janey. And it definitely beats being called the FGG. And her boobs are very big. Then she realises she’s just been given an Elfor name and waggles her fingers in excitement, and thinks to holo Yasmine before remembering she hates Yasmine, while Sam watches on in fascination. Completely unaware of the others in the room.

‘How did you get on?’ Penny asks Yasmine as they eat griddled rat. ‘Solved the case yet?’

‘Nah, I just watched some shuttles docking,’ Yasmine says. She doesn’t say how she found out the deliveries are taken from the shuttle into storage then straight out to sorting and delivery, which means there’s very little chance for anything to be taken from the cages once they’re inside the storage facility. There’s too much scrutiny, and besides, the contents are digitally recorded when the cage is loaded, then checked when it comes off. And there’s rarely any discrepancy because workers can’t easily steal big boxes of meds. Or clothes. Or anything, really.

Which all suggests that the stock interference is happening on the Ark before it gets to the Beijing.

She doesn’t say any of that. She eats rat instead, and figures the missing stock is the least of Penny’s worries right now.

25

Tuesday Evening

The Beijing

Some countries on Earth used to have the death penalty, whereby inmates were incarcerated for years before being killed by lethal injection or strapped to a chair and electrocuted. It seem such a barbaric thing now, and Zhang would sometimes wonder what it felt like with nothing to do but watch the seconds of your life tick by, forever closer to that final act.

Now he knows what it feels like and he’d rather be in Helga’s office getting a hand job than here, about to see his own actual mother.

His face screws up at thinking of hand jobs and his mother in the same thought process, and he looks about at the interrogation room, thinking back to many years ago when he was sitting in this same room, having also been arrested for fighting.

He was zapped, bound, and half-dragged, half-carried by the cops. He tried telling them he was a cop, but they just zapped him again. Then they realised he was really a cop, and dumped him in here to reflect on his looming death sentence.

A noise from outside. He tenses, waiting for the door to swish back and the descent into hell. But a young uniformed female cop appears instead.

‘Mr Woo?’ she asks, smiling as she walks in. Which just makes him suspicious. She sits down, all fresh-faced and youthful, and slides his wristband over the table. Then his Taser pistol. ‘I’m Constable Po Lee, Mr Woo, or should I say, Detective Woo. And may I begin by saying how very sorry we are that you were caught up in such a violent incident, and of course the attending officers didn’t know you were a cop,’ she adds, leaning in with a wince. Zhang stays quiet, still not exactly sure what’s going on.

‘I’m sure you can understand how confusing it is when you arrive at the scene of a crime in progress.’ She speaks earnestly, and Zhang wonders if he was ever young enough to believe in all the bullshit. He doesn’t say anything. He just checks his pistol before holstering it, then slaps his wristband back on.

‘They didn’t cause all of those marks, did they?’ she asks with apparent concern, nodding at the fading bruises and older cuts on his face.

‘No.’

‘Was it from an arrest?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You’re a detective on the Humility, aren’t you? That must be so cool. What’s it like? We keep hearing about it on the news – the Elfors and Neon City. They say it’s one of the most violent places in the fleet. Is it really that bad?’

He nods and she leans in with that sincere, earnest expression again. ‘I’m actually studying for the detective exams myself. Any tips?’

‘Cheat.’

She bursts out laughing. ‘Cheat! That’s funny. But anyway. We understand you were being robbed and we wanted to assure you we are doing everything we can to apprehend the suspects.’

‘They got away?’ Zhang asks in surprise.

‘Sorry, yes,’ she says with another wince, which tells Zhang that Leo’s got cops on his payroll, as there’s no way those guys should have got away. He’s surprised by how it went down, too. He figured Leo’s guys would try and nab him and drag him into the Hutongs, in which case they should have stuck a couple of voltage sticks in at the same time and dropped him. But they didn’t, and Zhang doesn’t know why. That, however, is something to worry about later – the focus now is getting out of here.

‘The witnesses said you were incredible,’ the constable says with apparent awe. ‘I bet you had it completely under control. Normally people are screaming at us when they’ve been robbed.’

‘It’s fine. Is that it?’ Zhang asks, already rising from the chair.

‘Oh no, we just need a statement from you.’ She swipes her system, bringing a screen up as he pulls a face. ‘The witnesses said you called one of them Bohai. Which we know is the name of a gang member.’

‘You know what, I think one of the other guys called a name out. Bohai. Yeah, that sounds right. It wasn’t me, but witnesses get confused. Happens all the time. Listen,’ he says, resting his elbows on the desk and leaning in a little. She leans in too, still wide-eyed. ‘Can we forget the statement? I know you should get one, but would you mark me down as witness refused? I need to keep a low profile over here.’

‘Are you undercover?’

‘Let’s just say sometimes cops need to quietly check things out. You get it. You’re going to be a detective. But, hey, when’s your exam?’

‘Two weeks,’ she says, blasting air with nerves.

‘Have you studied? Good. You’ll nail it. You’re smart, I can see that. Sharp, too.’

‘Wow. Do you think so?’

‘Absolutely. Hey, I’d hate to be investigated by you.’

‘I am smart. I don’t mean to brag, but I am.’

‘And pretty, too. Damn, did I say that out loud? I’m sorry. Please. That was inappropriate. My apologies, Constable Po.’

‘Oh, that’s so sweet. And it’s just Po . . . so, er . . . must be hard being away from your wife . . .’ she says with a clumsy approach to find out if he’s single and suddenly Zhang feel very predatory. She’s so young – nineteen, maybe twenty, tops. Naïve too. Hello, I’m Zhang Woo. I’m a sex addict and I can’t stop ruining people’s lives.

‘I’m not married and, officially, I’m just here for the New Year.’

‘I love New Year! Are you going to the fireworks? Ooh, we could meet up and you can give me tips on the exams. That would be amazing. The detectives here are all really old,’ she adds with an eye-roll. ‘I don’t think we’ve got any that look like you.’

You don’t want any like me, he thinks, smiling back at her. ‘Sounds great. Ping me and we’ll hook up.’ He pushes up from the desk as she sends her details to his system. ‘Still the same way out?’

‘Same way?’ she asks with a look. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘See. You’re smart,’ he says with a wink. ‘Years ago. I made a report. Nothing exciting. But I remember the way out. Detectives learn to remember these things.’ Zhang smiles, almost tasting the freedom as they walk through the station. ‘Well, Po. Thanks for your help, and holo me later,’ he says, as they reach the door. He stops. She stops. ‘The door?’ he asks with a gentle nod.

‘Sorry!’ she says sheepishly, as though caught out. ‘Er, it’s on your side.’ She leans in close to stretch her arm out for the sensor. ‘Oh, by the way. Your mother wants to see you.’ She bursts out laughing and pulls her arm back. ‘Brilliant! Your face. That was so funny. Come on, I’ve got to take you up.’

‘Po, seriously. Just let me out.’

‘Have you met your mother? Not a chance. Cops needs to quietly check things out,’ she mimics with a deep, gravelly voice. ‘Your mom said you’d be charming.’

‘Okay okay, you got me. See. I said you were sharp.’

‘Don’t even try.’

‘Just let me out.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Come on, I’m busy. Tell her I’ll swing by later . . . what are you doing?’ he asks when she draws her sidearm.

‘Getting ready to shoot you if you don’t move up these stairs.’

‘Po. You’re not going to—’ He cuts off with a grunt and locks out when she shoots him with her Taser pistol. ‘What the fuck! You just shot me.’

‘It’s turned down low,’ she says, checking the side of the gun with a quick frown. ‘Nearly low, anyway. Come along, Zhangy. You big bwave detective you . . .’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ he says, mounting the steps while plucking the needle from his chest.

‘What’s up, old man? Did the hot young cop not fall for your shit?’

‘I’m not old!’

‘Sure,’ she says, heading into a brightly-lit corridor. A door at the end that Zhang scowls at as they approach, with that sense of doom back in his guts.

Chief Woo

Head of Police

‘Chief Woo? Zhang is here,’ Constable Po says into the panel on the outside. ‘You can still fuck me later if you want,’ she whispers as the door swishes back.

‘What?!’

‘Zhang!’ his mother calls, marching out from behind her desk while Zhang shoots suspicious looks at Po now back to wide-eyed innocence. He glances about the office. Holo certificates on the walls. Images of family, all of them in uniforms edged with gold piping. All of them straight-backed. Chins high, hair neat and tidy. Everything neat and tidy. One image of him from the academy slightly off to one side. Young, but not innocent.

‘I was going to call,’ he says. ‘I literally just arrived when I got robbed.’

‘You arrived on the overnight yesterday, Zhang. Constable Po found out for me. Sit down,’ she orders him, like a chief to an officer. She bustles back to her desk, stern and imposing in her uniform, as Zhang shoots another look at Po standing to attention.

‘Can I get you or your son a drink?’

‘Tea,’ his mother says.

‘Coffee,’ Zhang says.

‘Zhang will have tea. He gets anxious after too much coffee.’

‘Aw, that’s sad,’ Po says, giving him a sorry look.

Zhang watches her move to the back of the room behind his mother’s desk. ‘How’s chiefing, then?’

‘Don’t be flippant. It’s busy. It’s New Year. Pickpockets. Muggings. Lost children. Drunks. Fights. Public order. The budget is never enough. We can’t put enough officers on duty. Ask Jorgey Raynor, she’ll say the same, but then she’s got the Elfors to deal with. What’s happening with that protest anyway? You can’t send Humility officers into the Elfors, you need Federal assistance. We said that, Zhang. You need to speak to your brother . . .’

Oh god, here it comes.

‘Did I tell you he’s a captain on the Ark now?’

‘Yep. Lots of times,’ Zhang says, blinking as he spots Po behind his mother, pulling a silly face.

‘Don’t frown, your bother deserves that job. He’s earned it.’

‘No, I wasn’t . . .’

‘He’s doing well and we’re all very proud of him. And your sister, too. She’s a squad leader . . .’ she rattles on as Zhang flicks his eyes back to Po licking the end of her finger while making eyes at him. He coughs and looks back at his mother. ‘And your nephew is very handsome. Just like his father.’

He glances past to Po licking the V made between two outstretched fingers, and clears his throat again.

‘You’ll like him, Zhang. He’s very career-minded and a good cop, too. A good leader, and his ship are very committed to his development . . .’

‘Two teas,’ Po says, carrying them over.

‘Well done, Po,’ his mother says. ‘Very good constable,’ she tells Zhang while nodding at Po. ‘Smart. She’ll go far.’

‘I’m humbled,’ Po says, dipping her head. ‘Excuse me. I need to clean the drink machine.’

‘Scored highest in her class. We’re thinking of putting her on the rapid promotion scheme. How about that, eh? She could be your supervisor one day, Zhang.’

‘I’m an old man. I’ll be retired by then,’ he adds as Po laughs silently and nods while his mother scowls at him. Or he’ll be dead. When Helga kills him. Or Leo. Speaking of which. ‘So the guys who rolled me got away then?’

‘Rolled you? More like a grudge from when you were in their gang,’ his mother says. ‘Zhang used to be in the Hutong gangs over here, Constable Po.’

‘No? Really? You’d never think that.’

‘Caused us great shame. But that’s the past. We’ll leave it there.’

Po mimics a sincere nod with big eyes before lifting a hand and closing a fist around an imaginary object that she looks at in puzzlement.

‘You look awful though, Zhang. You’ve lost weight, too. And your hair is too long. And why haven’t you shaved? And what’s with those clothes?’

‘I, er . . . new diet,’ he says, taking a sip of his tea while watching Po gently lick the imaginary thing she’s holding, before grinning and shoving it in and out of her mouth with her tongue pushing one of her cheeks out.

‘Zhang!’ his mother snaps when he sprays tea over her desk.

‘Sorry! That was hot. The tea! The tea was hot. Not Po.’

‘What?’

‘Cloth, Detective?’ Po asks, appearing with a napkin.

‘Fucked up,’ he mutters, giving her a look.

‘We don’t swear in here, Detective. Jorgey might allow that in the Elfors, but not in here.’

‘I’m not a detective here,’ he says, as Po points at him then at herself and starts shoving her finger in and out of her closed fist.

Me and you, she mouths.

‘What the fuck . . .’

‘Zhang! Language. Anyway, I take it you’re back to see your nephew and for New Year. Yes?’

‘Eh?’

‘Your nephew, Zhang. Your sister’s baby.’

‘What about it?’ he asks, as Po starts thrusting back and forth on the spot, pulling sex faces as he flicks his eyes from her to his mother, his addiction rearing up at the way Po is moving.

‘It?’ his mother asks. ‘It is a he.’

‘God, no,’ Zhang says, turning away.

‘He’s not that bad, Zhang. He’s a baby.’

‘Okay. Just stop.’

‘I will not stop. Family is important. You need to visit your sister.’

Oh god . . . oh god! Po mouths, thrusting faster while trying not to laugh.

‘Fuck!’

‘Zhang! What is wrong with you? Damn Humility, that’s what. This is what happens to career detectives. They get strung out and turn into bad-mouthed yobs.’

Zhang nods at his mother. Crossing his legs to hide his erection. ‘Strung out. Yep. Nephew. Got it. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Family dinner, Wednesday night. Pre-New Year get-together. Guess who’s coming? Your brother! He’s home too. Isn’t that great news? He’ll give you some promotion tips and we’ll talk about your career path. You need to get off that ship, and your brother has an opening on the Ark. They need a squad detective. Do not tell him I told you. He wants the surprise. And Constable Po is coming too, she’s your date for the night.’

‘What?!’

‘Oh, how very kind. I’m honoured,’ Po says, back to angelic as Chief Woo turns to nod at her.

‘Whoa. Hang on,’ Zhang says.

‘You need a wife. Po is a good match. Her father is a captain.’

‘How many fucking captains are there?’

‘Stop swearing!’

‘But she’s what, nineteen?’

‘I’m twenty-one,’ Po says.

‘I’m fifty-five. Your father is seventy. It’s acceptable. But you can’t come like that. Get cleaned up. And have a shave. Anyway, I’m busy. Wednesday. Eight sharp. Collect Po on the way, and bring a gift for your nephew.’

‘I can help you choose something,’ Po says. ‘I love children!’

‘See. Good match. Dismissed, Detective.’

‘I’m not a detective here,’ Zhang says, shaking as his head as he rushes out. ‘You’re fucking nuts,’ he whispers at Po when the door swishes shut.

‘Er, excuse me, that’s you’re fucking nuts, future Mrs Woo . . .’

‘Fucking fleet has gone insane,’ he says, backing away to the stairs.

‘Okay, okay. I was just having fun. Sheesh, get some humour. But hey, can I ask you a serious question?’ She stops to look at him with that earnest, wide-eyed expression. ‘Why do you have an erection from talking to your mother?’ She winks and tweaks his dick through his trousers as he jumps back. ‘Ha! You want me. Admit it.’

‘Fuck off! Just let me out.’

‘Are you going to holo me later?’

‘Po! Fuck off.’

‘Promise to holo me or I’ll Taser you.’

‘What the . . . fine!’ he blurts when she draws her sidearm. ‘I’ll holo you, just let me out.’

‘Aw, can’t wait,’ she says, swiping the panel as he bundles out. ‘We’ll go shopping for your nephew . . . exciting!’

26

Tuesday night

The Beijing

Night comes to the fleet as automated systems start dimming lights and adjusting airflow to make it cooler, simulating the life cycle of planetary beings.

Bars stay open. Eateries too, and Ghost Street is packed with diners and tourists while programming engineers test the lights and display systems in the neighbouring Confucius Square, in preparation for the big display on Friday.

Four people at one of the tables eating Beijing Rat and low GI noodles. Clara, Yasmine and Penny talk while Sam quietly delves into his hacking screen to test the interfaces around him which control the lights, sound systems and adverts in Ghost Street. All bog-standard and pretty much the same as the Humility. Then he punches out into the square to see what they’re using – a thing he’s wanted to do since arriving.

A smile touches his face as he recognises the basic foundation is a ramped-up version of DosDot Linear. But then it would have to be to handle a place this size with multiple synchronised feeds.

He glances about to check he’s unobserved, then starts tapping away on his virtual keyboard below a tiny matt black screen filling with green font. A filter over the top to prevent anyone else seeing it from the sides.

Some hackers love getting into databases and stealing information, but Sam was never into that. He could do it if pressed, but it holds no interest for him.

He’s more like a digital graffiti artist, that only gets horny for public places like this. And Confucius Square is a wet dream of a public place.

He moves to shut his system down, but the urge is there. The need to have a little try.

He finds a light high up in one corner, currently off. A few seconds later and it blinks on from Sam taking control.

‘And I’m just saying you don’t need to be so cautious,’ Clara tells Penny. ‘Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen if you let Pretty Boy try a few things.’

‘I know, I know,’ Penny says, clearly struggling between her own need to be careful and wanting to do more. ‘We just need to build up slowly.’

Clara cocks her head and takes a bite from a skewered rat. ‘You go too slow and it’ll be too late. Huh, Yassy? You with me on that?’

Sam glances at Yasmine as she tunes back into the conversation. She’s been quiet all day, absorbed in her thoughts, and Sam figures she feels left out because the political stuff isn’t her thing at all. He wishes he could talk to her, but Penny and Clara are always there, and things are just going so fast.

‘I said you with me on that, Yassy?’ Clara asks.

‘With you on what?’

‘Damn, girl, what is with you today?’ Clara asks with a laugh. ‘I ain’t never seen you so distracted.’

Yasmine just smiles and takes a bite of rat as Sam thinks she is still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Just to look at her makes his insides feel funny, and it’s not just how she looks either, but the person she is. The way she smiles and laughs and says what she’s thinking, and Clara’s right. She seems so quiet. Like the spark inside is dimming, and it makes him think of the tattoo on the back of her neck. The stick figures bouncing off the sides of the box. Wild Yassy. Crazy Yassy. Not subdued and bored Yassy.

They can’t do what they planned and go to the Ab-Spa. They have to be here. Nor can they have any alone time, because every hotel is booked up. But maybe he can bring a smile tonight. Just something small to make her laugh.

He gets an idea, pulls some coding used for previous hacks, and sets to work to take control of the projection system within the square. A moment later he taps Yasmine’s foot under the table.

‘What?’ she asks. He motions for her to look up. She glances past him, not seeing anything until he hits a button and a cartoon Gagarin pops into existence, within a shower of cascading stars. A happy grinning face on the front, but the grin fades when it starts moving as though it can’t get propulsion, and Yasmine chuckles at the way the stars shoot out the back like the engine is playing up.

‘What are you looking at?’ Penny asks, looking from Yasmine and out to the square. ‘What’s that up there?’

‘That’s a little spaceship,’ Clara says, twisting in her seat to watch the cartoon vessel sputter and cough. Then it stops and a green alien with an oversized head clambers out with a big wrench.

‘Mommy, look,’ a young girl says from the next table, pointing up at the alien jabbing a foot at the back of the shuttle. A few stars sputter. The alien kicks it harder as the little shuttle flinches from being hit.

‘Hey, seen that?’ someone else says as the alien wallops the back of the ship with the big wrench. The Gagarin flinches, then shows an angry face before compressing and shooting off with the alien hanging on by one hand. Stars shooting out bigger and brighter as the shuttle flies down one side of the square. People standing up to watch as the red and blue flashing lights of a cop shuttle pop into existence, with an alien cop inside. It sets off after the Gagarin with the cop waving an arm out of the window. The Gagarin shows a worried face, then sets off even faster with the alien trying to crawl over the roof, and the chase gets underway. Zooming around and around the upper level of the square with people spilling out from Ghost Street to watch it.

Yasmine grins at the sight of the angry cop waving his arm at the green alien trying to get back inside the Gagarin. She smiles at Sam too, seeing that look of focus as he types fast into his hacking screen, and she adores the audacity of doing something like this.

A murmur of excitement from the crowd makes her look back out to see the Gagarin plummet low and shoot over the heads of the people outside as a great cheer goes up. People ducking and kids laughing and reaching up. The cop shuttle drops too, whizzing on past as the alien crawls over the roof to get back inside the cockpit, but the Gagarin won’t open the door.

Sam takes the Gagarin into the centre of the square, making it stop with a comical application of squealing brakes, and the green alien flies off and lands on his face in mid-air with a resounding splat. Children laughing in delight.

The alien stands up with stars circling his dizzy head, staggering this way and that as the cop shuttle comes to a screeching halt. The alien cop jumps out and the alien runs off, but the brave Gagarin farts a star from its back end that trips the alien up. The cop grabs him. The crowd cheer and the cop drags the naughty alien back to the police shuttle before shooting off, with the cop waving at the Gagarin.

Another cheer from the crowd and the Gagarin smiles, then explodes with a bang into thousands of glittering hearts cascading down and golden words shimmering into existence.

Pretty Boy says hi to the Beijing! and remember kids: crime Doesn’t pay!

‘Sam!’ Penny spins back with a stunned expression. ‘Was that you? Oh my god!’ she bursts out laughing, shaking her head and looking back at the hearts.

Zhang stares over from the shadows, smiling softly at the way Sam and Yasmine look at each other, and never before has he ever felt so lonely.

* * *

Night comes across the fleet and in a back room of Dmitri’s cabin deep within the heart of Level 40, Osmosis snorts a fresh line of coloured powders from the naked buttocks of a woman lying across the mattress and throws his head back as the rush hits. He’s never felt so alive. He partied all night and all day and he’s still going now. Pumped full of drugs and booze.

He looks down at the naked hookers brought in after Carla, Honey and Lick refused to keep going. Karen paid them off and added extra for the bruises, while Dmitri took Osmosis down to 40, into the true Elfors, where Osmosis saw the rats and the rain and laughed when he floated up from the grav-drives failing, anchored only by Guphy clamping a hand around his ankle.

‘Kiss her tits,’ Osmosis orders the one he snorted the drugs from. Drunk on booze and power and still stunned that he can order human beings to do what he wants. It’s like a VR game in his head – these aren’t real women with real feelings. They don’t feel actual pain. ‘The Kingdom of Osmosis orders thou fair maidens and slutty hookers to fuck each other.’

Dmitri bursts out laughing. Drunk and naked in a chair watching them, a bottle of booze in his hand. Osmosis grins over at his new best friend and raises his own bottle in salute.

‘Hey, that’s hurting,’ one them says a moment later, when Osmosis’s hands grab too rough and his fingers push into places too hard and deep.

‘Sugar, go easy,’ one of the others says, in alarm at being slapped too hard.

‘Not in there,’ the other says, as Osmosis enters her in a way she doesn’t want. ‘Hey! I said no . . . I SAID NO!’

But it’s cool. It’s just like VR and anyway, Karen said there’s no limits. He can do what he wants.

* * *

Night falls across the fleet, the hour growing late as normal people with normal lives go to sleep so they can greet the new day that always comes. But in Neon City the lights pulse and the music bangs, with plenty of punters still getting through the blockade to keep the place thrumming.

In between the clubs and bars, in a shadowy spot where the lights don’t reach, Karen Big Feet steps from the alley to meet with Simon. ‘We’ve got some new tasks for him,’ she says as they set off.

A moment later and another man steps out. Average looking. Average build. A quiet man who blends in wherever he is. He moves off and heads along the strip, passing three women gathered together, but Carla, Honey and Lick pay him no heed. They’re not working tonight – not after that freak Osmosis yesterday.

The quiet man reaches the guard station and slips through with a nod to the guards. Punters can still go in and out. Elforists can’t. It’s not fair, but life isn’t fair.

He heads up a level and steps out to a dark spot and makes a call on his wristband. It’s answered quickly. Audio only. No video.

‘It’s time,’ he says.

‘Understood,’ the voice replies. Gruff, deep and old. ‘And this is what they want?’

‘It is exactly what they want. Do it tomorrow.’

The man cuts the call and stands in the shadows, his face a mask of thought, and high above him, on Level 1, Helga Sveinsson sits on one of the sofas in her office.

She hasn’t left the room all day but has instead nurtured a growing sense of isolation and paranoia at trying to figure out what Pierre is up to. Whatever game he is playing is confusing her. Why the change in him? She could ask him, but that would show weakness.

She saw the video of the Elfor woman being attacked and knows she should have responded with an interview. But she couldn’t organise it without aides, and couldn’t go down to Level 30 without security.

Now she thinks on what she should do, running options through her mind. Trying to find a way through it and come out on top – or at least not get killed.

And on top of all of that is the deep and awful shock that Pierre was behind the great shuttle crash twenty-five years ago.

There was a delegation on board one of the shuttles, heading to a summit to gain support for an amnesty within the Elfors. It was closest the Elfor crisis ever came to be being resolved, and it was also the time of the last great protest, with hundreds of people blocking the same stairwell as they are now. A mass reaction to some crime committed by an Elforist that got everyone going, but it was different then. The pro-Elfor movement was strong and they put forward a credible argument for phased and controlled amnesty. The pro-Elfor side wanted the rest of the fleet to help absorb the Elforists so the Humility wasn’t flooded with thousands of people suddenly seeking work and causing carnage. They were so close to making it happen, too.

But then they all died, along with thousands of other people, and that hope was crushed.

Helga only survived because Pierre stopped her from going, which is when her career took off. When she was groomed for power. When she bent over for him.

She lost good friends in that shuttle crash. People she liked and admired, and as the day wore on she thought more about them, about her own life, and about everything happening now. And from all of it, she still cannot understand the change in Pierre. It keeps going back to the same thing.

That something, or someone, is changing him, but she cannot see why.

27

Wednesday Morning

The Humility

‘Good morning, folks. And if you’re just tuning in then today marks one hundred and twenty-three years and I still haven’t counted how many months, days and hours, since the fleet set off in search of a new home. Now, before we get started, here’s a little something to bring you some cheer. Recorded late last night in Confucius Square on board the Beijing where it appears the hacker Pretty Boy has been busy. Take a look at this.’

Kristi spent another evening in her hotel cabin drinking synth wine and eating no-fat synth crap, while tugging away at that dangerous thread. She read every post, blog and news report she could find, and watched every interview, too. But there was a distinct lack of facts about the murders coming from the Humility authorities. Two people were killed. Randolph was murdered during the robbery. Mahatma was killed in her cabin. They were having an affair. Mahatma was blackmailing Randolph. Randolph was married, but don’t focus on that because IT WAS ALL DONE BY VIOLENT ELFOR PEOPLE WHO ALSO KILL BABIES AND RAPE EVERYONE.

That’s what it looked like to Kristi, and for a minute she even thought the protest was being used as a smoke screen for something else. Which is when she concluded she’d drunk way too much wine because grasping at wild conspiracy theories is the first journalistic step to the worldship Loser-Ville.

And in the midst of that she also struggled with the same internal conflicts. Namely that she should damn well leave it alone. She slept with Zhang Woo right after he found Mahatma. She keeps forgetting that.

Then of course that got her thinking about Zhang Woo. Which made her horny, and sad. So she masturbated and then cried. She kept thinking about Stella too. And how awful and frightening it was, and then – right at that point, while being sickened, horny, sad, drunk and while lying on her side on her inflatable sofa – she called Zhang Woo.

He answered, too. He doesn’t know why, but only that he did while tucked up an alley at the back of some commercial units in New Shanghai.

Neither spoke for a long time. She wanted to rant and talk about Mahatma and tell him again what a seedy low life prick he is. But she didn’t. She just stared at his face almost hidden in the darkness. ‘I masturbated,’ she said and no sooner did the words come out than she groaned and closed her eyes. ‘I’m so drunk . . .’ She thought he would laugh, but he just stared at her in a way that was so free of judgement it made her want to weep again. ‘I hate this ship,’ she whispered with tears spilling down her cheeks.

‘Leave, then.’

‘I can’t. It’s my job. And I hate cubes. I’m so hungry all the time but I can’t eat because I have to stay thin so men will want to fuck me.’ She thought she’d sound bitter, but the anger just wasn’t there. ‘Are you on the Beijing?’ He nodded. She swallowed and took a moment before speaking again. ‘I kinda wish you were here. How lame is that. I saw a woman being attacked and I couldn’t get to her. They were kicking her head . . .’ She broke off to blink the tears away. ‘Her name is Stella. Do you know her? She cleans the toilets.’

‘She’s called Stella Yeah Yeah.’

‘You know her? What’s she like?’

‘Nice. Hard-working. She’s got three kids. Her husband died.’

‘How do you know that? Have you fucked her? Oh god, I didn’t mean that. What an awful thing to say. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s okay. And no. I haven’t.’

‘I’m so drunk. I don’t even know why I called . . . I . . . I just . . . I hate you. I hate what you did, but I . . . I wanted you here. I wanted to, to . . . to fucking cry and be held and for someone to say it’s okay. Not for sex either. That’s a lie, I was horny. Oh god, I don’t know, I just mean . . . I can’t remember actually sleeping with someone. I mean just having someone there, you know? To watch over you. Jesus, what are you doing, Kristi? I gotta go.’

‘Sleep if you want.’

‘What?’

‘Sleep. I’ll watch over you.’

It should have been creepy but it wasn’t – if anything, it made her want to cry again.

‘Go to sleep. Everything will be okay. And fuck the cubes. Eat what you want.’

‘I’ll get fat,’ she said with a sleepy smile. ‘Not allowed to be fat. It’s against the law.’

‘There’s ways around a fat-scanner.’

‘Yeah? You gonna cheat a fat-scan for me? You’re a bad cop, Zhang . . .’ she said it as a sleepy joke, but saw the hurt in his eyes. ‘Are you?’ He didn’t reply and she stretched out into his holo with her fingers splayed as though to touch someone that just wasn’t there. ‘You tried to save Mahatma, didn’t you . . .’

He stayed silent. His dark eyes locked on hers as he leant in closer, staring hard. ‘Don’t,’ he whispered. She frowned back, her eyes growing heavier by the second. ‘Don’t pull on that thread. It’s too dangerous . . .’

She blinked heavily, listening to his whispered voice, then she slipped away. Falling asleep as Zhang sat and watched her for a very long time.

She woke on the sofa feeling groggy and hungover and only remembered the call when she checked her system and saw the log. He’d stayed there for over three hours watching her sleep. She couldn’t understand what that meant, then figured she was looking for meaning again where there wasn’t any to be found.

Now she stands at the edge of the retail zone sipping hot synth coffee from a beaker and wishing she was anywhere but here, while also wanting to really tug at that thread because it’s sure as damn annoying the hell out of her staring at holo images of Saint Mahatma Fucking Goudier.

‘Kristi? Kasim holoed me. He wants us to find a business owner to tell us they’ve been pressured into being anti-Elfor,’ Rona says, breaking off as Kristi looks past her with a frown to several men and women in black suits walking over.

‘Get a camera up.’ Kristi says, plonking her beaker down as the Level 1 security guards sweep into the area.

‘You’re live,’ Rona says, keeping pace.

‘Folks. This is Kristi Carter on the Humility. We’ve just seen the Level 1 security team move into position in front of the elevator. Which suggests Vice-Captain Sveinsson is about to appear. Holy moly, that’s Pierre Jefferson!’

Pierre steps out, flanked by his security with Roger firmly at his side as an aide rushes ahead to set up a virtual lectern behind which Pierre comes to a stop with his head held high. Bearded and refined and looking like one of the powerful men from the paintings on his walls, and when he speaks out his voice is gruff, deep and old.

‘Good morning. You all know me, and you know I don’t skirt around issues or waffle on, so I’ll keep this blunt. The crisis on board my ship is a travesty, and it needs gripping.’

‘Finally,’ Helga mutters, watching the feed in her office.

‘The robbery of the Fleet Finance offices and the subsequent murders of Randolph Simpson and Mahatma Goudier are crimes which cannot go unpunished. For too long the good people of this ship have suffered crimes perpetrated by violent thugs coming up from the lower four levels. I was hoping that in time, we could reach a passive resolution, but these recent events, the robbery, the murders and the use of military grade weapons in terrorist attacks have now shut that option down.’

Pierre pauses, shaking his head sadly. ‘I’m an old man, but the life snubbed out of Mahatma Goudier, a bright and beautiful young woman killed in such a barbaric way, has deeply offended me, and it has changed my view and made me realise the people of the Humility need strong leadership. And that is why I am announcing my intention to run for Captaincy again. Once re-elected I will move Neon City to Level 30 and impose the hardest border the Elfors have ever seen, in a final resolution to this constant state of crisis. They will be controlled. No More Excuses.’

28

Wednesday morning

The Beijing

‘Fuck me,’ Penny says, from within the chaos of the hotel room. Holo feeds open all over the place. Abdul and Janey on holo calls. Colin and his team at the exit door appealing for calm to the crowd of angry Elforists rushing over to see Abdul.

‘It’s a fucking mess!’ Abdul snaps, striding to his window to look out at the crowds gathering outside. ‘It doesn’t make sense You don’t tell someone you’re doing an Elfor drop. You just do it.’

‘I’m not getting it,’ Penny says.

‘This is an Elfor drop for Neon City,’ Abdul says.

‘He means why is Pierre telling everyone his plans,’ Yasmine says from inside the bathroom. ‘Why not just do it. He’s the captain, isn’t he?’

‘Sorry guys, jumping in here,’ Janey says. ‘Pierre can’t shut the Elfors down permanently without a majority backing from the councillors. The most a captain or vice-captain can do is impose a temporary hard-border restriction in times of emergency. Which is what they’ve done now. It’s the same for moving Neon City. It needs a majority backing.’

‘What about the appeal we were going to do?’ Abdul asks with sudden hope. ‘Janey? How’s that going?’

‘We’re too busy feeding the people you keep sending in,’ Sven says bluntly. ‘Janey can’t do your legal stuff and run the café at the same time. Listen, if you’re not using Yasmine can you send her back over?’

‘God, yes!’ Yasmine says, popping out of the bathroom.

‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Janey says primly. ‘Dorka and Erik and Janey Dead Leg are helping and Dil and Marko are cleaning up.’

‘They helped out, Janey. We’re not paying them,’ Sven says. ‘And they’ve got their own jobs.’

‘Sven. I’ll come over. How do I get a ticket?’ Yasmine asks.

‘She comes in my café and I’ll walk,’ Janey fires back.

‘Guys!’ Penny snaps.

‘What the fuck!’ Yasmine says, her face darkening with rage as the frustration finally surges to the surface after days of being cooped up with nothing to do. ‘You know what. Fuck this. Enjoy your fucking crisis!’ She slams a hand into the panel and storms out.

‘Yasmine!’ Sam calls, pushing up from the sofa to go after her.

‘Sam, I need you here,’ Penny says. ‘Sam! Just let her cool off. She’ll be fine.’

‘What is your problem with her?’ Sam asks, turning on Janey.

‘Boss,’ Colin says, striding back into Abdul’s office. ‘We’re the wrong people to be talking to this lot. We’re just making it worse. Clara can do crowds.’

‘Clara’s not here, Colin,’ Abdul says with forced patience, running a hand over his beard.

‘Then get her back. And I need to put someone on the café today, but I’ve only got Olga, Pash and Boris. And Olga’s watching the office down here.’

‘What about the code?’ Penny asks.

‘Fuck the code!’ Colin shouts. ‘Yassy can look after herself.’

‘Okay. Clara, you fast shuttle back to the Humility,’ Penny says, sending a request to the private shuttle service. ‘Abdul, get up to 30 and do as many interviews as you can. Colin, you need to warn the journos not to bait him or we’ll pull consent. I’ll send you a list of agencies to avoid.’

‘Pen. What are you not getting about us being stretched too thin? I can’t protect the café, this office and Abdul and vet interviews. What if it goes off? I’ve got no one left to deploy.’

‘Janey. Can you do it?’

‘Are you being serious?’ Sven asks. ‘Janey needs to run the café. I just said we should get Yasmine back!’

‘Yasmine is not stepping foot on the Humility,’ Abdul says firmly.

‘Penny,’ Sam says, as everyone turns to look at him. ‘Just go back with Clara.’

‘I can’t! The code thing. Remember?’

‘Nothing’s happening with it. I mean, literally nothing is happening. I haven’t been contacted by anyone. Neither has Janey or Sven, or Yasmine. Maybe whoever lost it made another one. And anyway, Colin just said Yasmine can take care of herself. No, hang on a sec. You said we had to be seen working over here. We’ve done that. We’re here. We’ve plausibly left the Humility for new jobs.’

‘But . . . we’ve got New Year and . . .’ Penny says, falling quiet as she realises Sam is right. There hasn’t been any word on the code. No threats. No contact. No rumours or whispers. ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’ she asks Abdul.

‘I need you here,’ Abdul says, nodding as they realise the truth in Sam’s words. ‘Sam, you get on the net and do what you can. No holding back. Fuck caution.’

‘Er . . . shit, there’s a shuttle here now. Clara? We need to move. We’ll be two hours tops. Sam, enjoy your privacy.’

Five minutes later and Sam Gablinski sits in a strangely silent and empty hotel room with his head spinning from everything happening. The speed of it all, and the near-constant state of heightened stress. But now it’s silent, and the smile grows wide across his face.

He swipes his system and springs up with Chi-Chi booming out ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum, The Beat Goes On’.

On his feet and moving. Gyrating to the killer beat as he grooves over to the coffee machine and dances his fingers through the interface. Selecting a large synth cappuccino with extra synth froth. Singing along with the promise ahead of a night alone with Yasmine. Maybe a light dinner in Ghost Street followed by a few drinks and a romantic stroll over to the Great Wall before coming back to pick up where they left off a few days ago.

A minute or so later and he sways back to the sofa with his freshly made coffee and swipes to call Yasmine.

‘Hey! Guess what? Penny and Clara have gone back to the Humility.’

‘Seriously? What happened?’

‘Ah you know, everyone was yelling and going nuts, but yeah, it’s just us now.’

‘Shit! Have they gone gone?’

‘Gone gone?’

‘Yes! Have they left? As in left the ship?’

‘Yeah. They’re on a fast shuttle now. Why? I thought you’d be happy . . . and where are you anyway?’ he asks, peering at the seat headrest behind her as she screws her face shut.

‘I’m on a shuttle.’

‘What the shit! Where to?’

‘The Ark . . . I’m going to the Ark . . .’

29

Yasmine had charged out of the hotel room in a foul mood, angry and confused at Janey’s constant snipes.

The lack of action was crippling her too. Yasmine’s life has always been one of constant motion – dealing, hustling, stealing and surviving on her wits – so she walked about with too much energy and got annoyed at people being in the way, while thinking about Janey and the things she’d said. Then she thought about Mr Ming and the other people they’d visited, which made her think about how the stock isn’t being interfered with on the Beijing, and she realised, in that state of mind, that although she couldn’t really do anything about the crap going on with the Elfors, she could do something about the missing stock.

‘Oops, sorry,’ she said after an abrupt about-turn saw her slam into a young Chinese woman trying to rush past.

Yasmine reached the packed concourse a few minutes later and spotted more delivery cages stacked over to one side. All of them appeared full and secure and, if nothing else, it cemented the idea in her mind. The only problem was she didn’t know how to do it.

‘Is this a ticket booth?’ she asked a clerk behind a counter. ‘I need a ticket to the Ark.’

‘Single?’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Are you coming back?’

‘I dunno. When do they come back? I’ve literally no clue what I’m doing.’

‘Really? It doesn’t show. How about an open-ended return? Costs a bit more but . . .’

‘Yep. Awesome. Do that. How long does it take?’

‘Just a moment.’

‘Not this. The flight!’

‘This one is two hours.’

‘That quick? It took us way longer than that to get here from the Humility.’

‘That’s because the Beijing has issues with arrivals, not departures.’

Yasmine wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, then realised she didn’t actually care either, but she did get a buzz from paying for the ticket using Abdul’s account the way Penny had showed her.

She eventually found her way onto the shuttle and into the economy section, a large, low-ceilinged room filled with narrow aisles running between rows of seats. The air somewhat stale, the walls somewhat scuffed. The place already nearly full.

She found an empty seat and sat down, looking this way and that the way people do when they’ve not done a thing or been to a place before.

‘That’s 45D,’ a man said, staring down at her in that way she hated.

‘What?’

‘You’re in 45D.’

‘And?’

‘It’s my seat.’

‘Is there a problem?’ a crew member called over.

‘She’s in my seat.’

‘How do I know which seat is mine?’ Yasmine asked, stepping out into the aisle.

‘Check your ticket,’ the crew member said, pushing past other passengers to scan her wristband. ‘74B. Down there on the right. And hurry please.’

‘74B,’ Yasmine said, finally spotting the seat numbers on each row. ‘Got it . . . 70, 71, 72, 73 . . .’

‘Look at that. She can count,’ Sun Sing said, looking up with a sarcastic grin as Yasmine came to a stop.

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Yasmine groaned as they both looked at the empty seat next to Sun. 74B.

‘What’s the problem now?’ the crew member asked, glaring at Yasmine.

‘Hey, sorry. There must be a mistake,’ Sun said. ‘Can you find this woman another seat please?’

‘No. We’re full.’

‘She can’t sit next to me,’ Sun said as Yasmine squeezed past into her seat. ‘Oi. Elbows!’

‘I’ll elbow your face in a minute.’

‘Yeah? Didn’t you know all Chinese know Kung-Fu?’

‘Yeah? Didn’t you know all Elforists are psychotic?’

‘How about I tell the crew you threatened me. Did you hear what she said?’ she asked the woman on her other side.

‘I don’t think she’s Chinese,’ Yasmine said as the woman on the end stared ahead without reaction.

‘Ooh, what gave it away?’ Sun asked. ‘Is it that she’s not Chinese?’

‘Racist.’

‘That’s not racist!’

‘You two are charming,’ a gruff voice said from behind, prompting them both to turn and glare at a man rolling his eyes at them.

‘Do you know what? Let’s just not talk,’ Sun said.

‘That’s a good idea, love. Do that,’ the guy behind said as the shuttle detached with a slight jolt before zooming off into space, and Yasmine looked about, thinking it was nothing like the trip over in the nice VIP section with the free bubbly and the view overhead.

‘Hi, mom. I’m on the shuttle,’ Sun said as Yasmine glanced over to see Yolo Sing’s tired face in a holo call.

‘Is everything okay?’ Yolo asked.

‘Yep. My friend is with me . . .’ Sun said, twisting her feed to show Yasmine sitting next to her as Yolo groaned.

‘Sun, please don’t get arrested again.’

‘I won’t!’

‘Just don’t talk to her. Or anyone. Promise me. And call me when you arrive. And make sure you eat. And don’t argue with people.’

‘Will do and I won’t. Love you, mom.’

‘I love you too.’

Yasmine looked away, suddenly uncomfortable with witnessing the display of affection, and thought about the complexity of the task she’d just thrown herself, while getting increasingly annoyed at the way Sun was drumming her fingers on the armrest between them.

‘Seriously!’

‘Jesus,’ Sun muttered, pulling her hand away with a huff. ‘Don’t you need to call your boyfriend? I could do it for you. What’s his name again?’ she asked as Yasmine flicked a middle finger up. ‘He is hot, though. How did you bag him? Did he buy you from a brothel?’ she said as the guy next to Yasmine snorted a laugh.

‘Do not even laugh at that,’ Yasmine told him.

‘Don’t tell him not to laugh. I’m funny.’

‘Funny looking.’

‘I’m still prettier than you. Sam! That was it. Sam the sexy man . . .’ Sun said as Yasmine blasted air through her nose. Silence again. Long and heavy. ‘You know men always prefer Asian chicks, right?’ Sun added.

‘Racist again.’

‘That’s not racist! How is it racist that your boyfriend was giving me the eye?’

‘He was not!’

‘He so was. He was like hey Sun, my girlfriend’s a belly-dancing bitch.’

‘Yeah? And your mom was like hey, Yassy, my daughter can’t sell the right meds to a girl on her period.’

‘That was Lee!’

‘It’s your store.’

‘And it’s your shit drugs we’re stocking, or not, seeing as we don’t get any.’

Yasmine went to retort but stopped with a frown at feeling her wristband vibrate and swiped to answer the call as Sam’s grinning face bloomed up.

‘Hey! Guess what? Penny and Clara have gone back to the Humility.’

‘Seriously? What happened?’ Yasmine asked.

‘Ah, you know, everyone was yelling and going nuts, but yeah, it’s just us now.’

‘Shit! Have they gone gone?’ Yasmine asked, looking about to see if the shuttle was moving.

‘Gone gone?’

‘Yes! Have they left? As in left the ship?’

‘Yeah. They’re on a fast shuttle now. Why? I thought you’d be happy . . . And where are you, anyway?’

She screwed her face up with a surge of self-loathing at her own stupid hot-headedness. ‘I’m on a shuttle.’

‘What the shit! Where to?’

* * *

‘The Ark . . . I’m going to the Ark,’ she says, wincing at herself. ‘Have we left yet? Sir, sorry, have we left the Beijing yet?’ she asks the man next to her.

‘Yeah, minutes ago.’

‘Shit! Okay. Sam, listen. Stay in the hotel room. I’ll come straight back.’

‘Why are you going to the Ark?’

‘Hey, Sam!’ Sun says, leaning in with a smile and a wave.

‘And why are you with Sun?!’

‘I’m not with Sun. She’s just here . . . will you fuck off?!’

‘You fuck off.’

‘The pair of you need to fuck off,’ the man behind snaps.

‘Fuck off,’ Sun and Yasmine say together.

‘Jesus,’ Sam says, shaking his head at it. ‘You’re going to the Ark? Why didn’t you tell me? Oh god, you’re not running, are you?’

‘What? No! I’m not. I don’t know! The missing stock and all the delivery issues and I really liked Mr Ming and Yolo and . . . you know, everyone’s too busy with the election. I don’t know. I just did it. I can’t sit in a hotel room all day. It’s not me . . . I was climbing the walls.’

‘Yeah, it was showing. Er, okay, so the next shuttle is in two hours.’

Yasmine nods, feeling wretched at herself. ‘I’ll get that and come back. Just stay in the hotel room.’

‘No! I mean the next shuttle to the Ark. I’ll come to you.’

‘What about your work?’

‘I can do it anywhere. It’s the Ark! It’s the biggest thing humanity has ever built! It’s got factories and these huge places where they grow stuff and huge rooms and corridors so long they use travelators and they’ve got elevators normal people can use. Elevators! And like whole towns built for workers and these huge real glass observation decks where you can see the satellites and—’

‘Okay, okay! I get it,’ she says with a laugh at his excitement. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

‘And close your eyes when you get off, so you don’t see anything. Then we can see it together.’

‘Fine. I’ll close my eyes and not look at anything . . . while I’m on a travelling corridor.’

‘Travelator, and don’t you dare. Right. I’ll do Penny’s stuff and get ready. The Ark! Haha! I can’t wait. Best day ever.’

‘Aw, that was sweet,’ Sun says when it cuts off. ‘Excuse me. Has anyone got a sick bag?’

‘What the fuck is your problem?’

‘You’re my fucking problem,’ Sun whispers angrily. ‘You and Penny looking like that and now you’re going on a jolly trip to the Ark when my mom can’t afford to eat or pay her staff. That’s my fucking problem.’

‘Which is why I’m on this crappy shuttle, because I’m going to fix it.’

‘How? By holding hands on a fucking travelator?’

‘Oh, wow. You and Janey need to get together and compare those chips on your shoulders.’

‘Does she wear three-hundred-cred outfits and laugh at poor people too?’

‘You think you’re poor? You are not poor. I’ve been poor and that isn’t it. Get over yourself.’

‘You’re not poor! We’re from the Hutongs.’

‘So? I’m an Elfor! We used to piss in a bucket and then walk through the dirty rain to pour it away and we ate wild rats!’

‘Everyone in the fleet eats the rats! And a bucket? We had to share a bucket with the next family.’

‘Family? Colly had thirteen kids sleeping in three tubes.’

‘Oh my god, we would have killed for a tube. We slept on the floor.’

‘Yeah? We had to sleep strapped down in case the grav-drives failed. You ever seen a kid drop twenty metres onto a hard floor?’

‘Yeah? You ever seen your brother get killed in a gang attack and then watch your mom fall apart and do everything to get us out? She put her whole life into getting that business going and Abdul doesn’t give two shits about it.’

‘Have we got to listen to these two gutter rats the whole trip?’ the man behind asks loudly.

‘Who you calling a gutter rat?’ Yasmine asks.

‘You two! I have to listen to angry women at home.’

‘I wonder why,’ Yasmine says.

‘Fuck you!’ the guy yells.

‘That’s enough!’ a crew member calls out, marching over to Sun and Yasmine. ‘One more word and—’

‘And you’ll what?’ Sun asks, glaring up. ‘Put us in economy?’

‘No, but we’ll turn around and eject you.’

‘Yeah? You do that,’ Sun fires back. ‘Then explain to the rest of the fleet why all the shuttles are snarled up because you couldn’t handle two modern women having a discussion. What? You don’t get crew workers on here swearing and doing the same thing? Or is it because we’re not showing you our tits and pretending to be meek?’

‘Kick ’em into space,’ the man behind says.

‘I’m telling you to be quiet,’ the crew worker snaps at them.

‘And I’m telling you to go and lick some toxic masculinity from that sack of shit’s scrotum,’ Yasmine says as a woman in the next row over bursts out laughing.

‘How fucking dare you!’ the man behind yells, pushing to his feet.

‘You’re both on a last warning,’ the crew member says, pointing down at Sun and Yasmine.

‘Do not stand over me, pal,’ Yasmine says, pushing up to her feet and pointing at the guy behind. ‘He’s swearing at us. We’re only swearing at each other.’

‘They’re disgusting!’ the man says, waving his arm in distaste.

‘They weren’t doing anything wrong,’ the woman in the next row over says.

‘They weren’t bothering me,’ the man next to Yasmine says.

‘Well, I don’t want to listen to two snappy whores going at each other,’ the man behind them shouts.

‘Who are you calling a whore?’ Sun demands, shooting to her feet to stand next to Yasmine.

‘You! You’re a fucking Hutong whore and you literally just told everyone your mom opened her legs to get out of there . . . and that skanky Elfor bitch drank piss or whatever . . .’

‘FUCK YOU!’ Sun screams, scrabbling over the seat to get at the guy.

‘HEY! SIT DOWN,’ the crew member shouts, grabbing at Sun.

‘Get your fucking hands off her!’ Yasmine yells, pushing the crew member away.

‘She fucking hit me!’ the guy yells, lashing out at Sun. Yasmine turns and slams a fist into his nose as more crew members rush in and passengers pull their eyes away from reading posts and watching vids about the Elfor crisis. Posts that just hit a collective 80% anti-Elfor high.

* * *

But Sam knows within his gut that it’s a false read from a core demographic on the Humility made up of middle-aged and older people who don’t like change, and those with a predilection for extreme views. That’s how it’s trending so high. Because that core group has all flooded in to boost each other’s rages and rants, which sets the algorithms alight.

Sam also knows it’s not them who need to be targeted. It’s all the others.

In the hotel room, surrounded by screens and feeds. Keyboards open in front of him. His fingers blurring, his mind focused. Ten thousand bot accounts getting ready to go out with a multitude of key phrases. They all link to each other and create the realism needed. And he uses the accounts he generated for Sven’s Eatery too, that now have real links to real people.

Two hours pass swiftly, and finally he sits back to stare at his handiwork for a second before hitting the go button and shutting his systems down to run for the shuttle, only stopping to buy some series eight wristbands from a tech store on the way, while trying to ignore the ugly prickle of something inside that Yasmine set off to the Ark without him. Mind you, he also knows how rash and hot-headed she can be, and figures she did it as a spur of the moment thing. But still, it is a bit shitty.

* * *

Ten thousand miles away and a different shuttle reaches the Humility. A sleek executive vessel owned and operated by a firm specialising in providing fast transport to wealthy fleet clients.

‘We’re here,’ Clara says, rising from her seat inside the plush lounge.

Penny nods and starts shutting her system down then catches sight of one of the news feeds showing a brawl inside a commuter shuttle.

‘It appears the issues started after a heated discussion between passengers travelling to the Ark got out of control,’ the anchor says with wry smile. ‘At least it’s something different to the Elfors . . .’

Penny snorts a laugh, then pauses, catching a glimpse of a woman with dark hair and olive skin leaping over the back of a row of seats. A second later and she chases the thought away, knowing there’s no way in hell Yasmine would be on a shuttle to the Ark.

The airlock hisses. The doors open and Penny and Clara step out into the VIP lounge on Level 20, while Abdul walks at the head of his team through Neon City. An ugliness in the air. Fear and a growing sense of anger that will quickly turn into rage. He reaches the elevator. Lonny and Sammy Nine Fingers waiting for them. The doors close and the elevator starts to rise as ten thousand virtual bots fly out from a point of origin on the Beijing.

The elevator reaches Level 30. The doors open and Abdul steps out as Penny falls in at his side, with everyone else breathing a sigh of relief that she’s back. Clara and Boris share a quick kiss, before Boris heads off with Lonny and Sammy and Abdul walks towards the waiting shitstorm.

* * *

Yasmine’s shuttle reaches the Ark with Yasmine and Sun pinned down by crew members who broke out the emergency use Tasers to subdue them. The abusive man clutching his bleeding nose. More people arguing and pushing each other.

The woman from a few rows over shouting at the crew, ‘I’m a human rights lawyer and I am telling you to release those women right now or I will sue every single one of you for assault and unlawful detention!’

* * *

On the Humility, Abdul approaches the media pack and lifts his chin with Elfor defiance as the future of thousands of people rests heavy on his shoulders.

Helga watches Abdul walking towards the media with a sense of worry that he’s about to be torn apart, because there’s no way he can fight back against Pierre. Not even Abdul can take that fight on and win.

Crowds in the Elfors still gather outside his offices staring up at Olga left outside the door at the top of the stairs because no one in their right mind would pick a fight with Olga Two Sticks. Instead, they watch the holo video Pretty Penny recorded on-board the fast shuttle.

‘Guys, we’re doing everything we can. I promise you. We will not let them shut the Elfors. We’ve got a whole team working hard to stop it happening, so please do not kick off. We’ll get through this . . . I promise you. Spread the word and stay calm.’

* * *

Ten thousand accounts slam into the feeds, swarming the net.

* * *

Abdul stares ahead to the media scrum. Helga watches it from her office. Yasmine and Sun still thrashing as they’re pinned down, Tasered in the legs and bellies. Sam in his seat on the shuttle, opening his system. Sven in the café, Janey in the walkway. Pressure and worry. Stress and grief from all sides. Hatred in the air. A mob mentality whipped up because chaos creates confusion, and confusion creates opportunity.

But that chaos creates something else, too. It creates a need to oppose those who seek harm, and so the fightback starts as a smile touches the corners of Abdul’s mouth.

* * *

‘Okay, guys!’ Penny shouts out, moving deftly in front of Abdul with her head high and her hands up towards the crowd. ‘You know the drill. We’re not taking questions from a scrum . . . looking at you, Johnny Johnson,’ she adds with an arched eyebrow, as the reporters and journalists smile. ‘Abdul will be available for interviews all day. Ping me a request and I’ll book a slot. No goading, no provoking and no fake news or we’ll pull consent. Everyone good with that?’

‘Boom, and Penny’s back,’ Clara murmurs.

‘Oh, she’s good,’ Helga says in her office, with a swift change of perception because Abdul Shariff, flanked by his security team and headed by the highly professional Penny, suddenly appears every inch as dignified and statesmanlike as Pierre Jefferson. And he’s younger, too. Fitter and broader. A fighter and brawler. A hustler and dealer with hunger in his belly and a glint in his eye and a refusal to back down without a fight.

* * *

‘I will fucking scrunch you!’ Yasmine shouts, while pinned down. Fire in her eyes and fire in her belly.

* * *

The fightback starts with Penny, now back to leash the baiting media. Boris at the café, providing a reassuring presence with his huge bulk. Elforists working inside to take the pressure from Janey and Sven. Ten thousand bot accounts swarming through social media.

All those things are good, but they’re not enough. Jean has gained too much traction.

Sam knows that, and he knows they need something big to get attention. They need something outrageous, and while they might lack the power and reach of Pierre, and the numbers and noise of the protesters, what they do have is something else entirely.

Pretty Boy.

His simple hack of Confucius Square made the top twenty trends in the Daily Fleet funnies. Colin saw it first and said he’d got an alert set up. He shared it out to his own circles, then showed it to Boris and Pash. Pash showed it to Abdul. Boris sent it to Clara, both Abdul and Clara showed it to Penny at the same time who realised the organic reach such a thing can achieve.

Now Penny organises the interviews while Clara discreetly places a series eight wristband running on DosDot Linear behind a potted plant before sending a message to Sam. Hey Sweetie Pie! All done. You have fun now!

Sam smiles into his screens and flicks his eyes over to a feed showing Jean Schreiber sneering mid-interview.

‘The fact we’re allowing that gangster to come up here and become a councillor is an outrage! And I have no doubt that Abdul knows the people who raped and murdered Randolph Simpson and Mahatma Goudier. May her beautiful soul rest in peace. That’s why I applaud Pierre Jefferson for standing up to these violent and deranged psychopaths and everyone here wholly supports the final resolution . . .’

‘Fuck you, Schrieber,’ Sam murmurs. ‘Pretty Boy says hi . . .’

A flash of light behind Jean. Stars shooting out from thin air as everyone looks over as a drum roll starts.

‘What the hell is that?’ Jean asks, cutting off mid-sentence and turning to look.

A clap of thunder and a 3-D holo image of a huge sexy cartoon table bursts into existence. Ten feet tall with flowing hair. Suspenders on her legs and underwear covering her modesty. A big sultry smile on her face, and Jean Schreiber’s amplified voice on replay.

‘He’s called Abdul the Angry for Fleet’s sake! And the fact he sexually assaulted an innocent item of furniture only speaks of the depravity of the man . . .’

A roar of laughter sounds out as the table-lady lifts a knowing eyebrow and rolls her eyes.

‘I ain’t innocent, that’s for damn sure, and I did give consent. Best night of my life. But Abdul, honey. You said you’d call me?’

‘That’s brilliant!’ Kristi bursts out laughing, covering her mouth as people flood in from the lanes and walkways.

‘Get that down!’ Jean shouts as Sam makes the table-lady look down at her underwear.

‘What, these? And in front of all these people, Jean?’

‘THAT IS DISGUSTING!’ Jean roars, pointing at the image, his face flushing a deep red. ‘YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED!’ he screams out, and makes the mistake of looking at the table as he says it.

‘I don’t exist, Jean. I’m a cartoon . . .’

She winks and bursts into a thousand stars flying out as a cheer goes up, but the show isn’t over and the stars fall to reveal a timid looking cartoon beaker with skinny arms and legs and big wide eyes staring about.

‘And . . .’ the beaker says, high-pitched and nervous. ‘And Jean drinks from me every day but he never asks me if I like it . . .’

‘IT’S A FUCKING BEAKER!’ Jean shouts, swiping the air as though to make it go away, which only sets everyone else off even more.

‘Beakers have rights,’ the nervous beaker says, nodding earnestly and lifting a placard adorned with No More Excuses.

Another pop and it bursts into stars that fall away to show golden words shimmering in the air.

Pretty Boy says hi! 100% Pro-Elfor

And the fightback starts as Abdul turns to Kristi with a glint in his eye and a fire in his belly.

‘I’m ready when you are, Kristi . . .’

* * *

As they set to work, so a bleary-eyed Osmosis shuffles from a back room within Dmitri’s cabins, having been roused by Karen Big Feet. ‘What day is it?’ he croaks.

‘Wednesday,’ she replies.

‘Man. No way. I need to get to my shop . . . so, er . . . wow, thank you for the narcotics and pleasurable ladies of the night . . . is it that way out?’ He aims for the door, squinting and feeling the effects of the booze and drugs.

‘We had a deal,’ Karen says, making Osmosis turn and blink at her.

‘That we did, and the Kingdom of Osmosis will surely honour that deal. Once I have resumed being human and checked my shop hasn’t been looted by nerds.’ He offers a smile, because he knows his charming way makes them laugh. Except they don’t laugh this time, and Karen stares blankly at him in a way that sucks all trace of humour from the air. ‘I’ll check with the bossman,’ he says.

‘Dmitri won’t wake up for hours. It’s just us. You can set up in here. We’ve cleared that table and got you coffee and some grilled rat.’

‘Rat?’ Osmosis asks with a grimace, turning slightly green at the thought of food.

‘Take these,’ Karen says, offering him two white pills and a beaker of water. She stands close, nodding for him to take them and watching that he does. ‘Good. Now get to work. We’ve got a lot to do. I’ve got some more tasks lined up.’

‘Okay. Sure, sure. Understand that. But er, ha! So sorry, but I thought we had a deal here?’ Osmosis says, giving sideways looks to Karen and Simon. ‘Nobody said anything about other tasks.’

‘You’ve blown a few thousand credits on booze, drugs and hookers, and I’ve had to pay more for the marks you left on them. But you have a choice. People always have choices. You can either choose to work with me, in which case we’ll wipe that debt free and maybe I’ll get you some new ladies to play with tonight. Or, I’ll let you walk out of that door right now.’

Osmosis frowns in confusion. ‘Wow. I am so hungover. Let me get this right. I can either stay here or go. And how is that a threat? Only it sounded like a threat. But I can just go. Right? You said that. You said I can go.’

‘Go,’ Karen says lightly, holding her hands up. ‘I want you here willingly. People always work better when they’re willing. If you want to leave, go right ahead.’

‘Well. In which case I shall bid you fare thee well my fair maiden and be on with my journey and, rest assured, I shall attend to our deal forthwith,’ he says, to another awkward silence. ‘Right. Bye, then.’

‘This man is no longer under the protection of Dmitri,’ Karen calls out as she steps from the cabin after Osmosis.

‘HIS SHOES ARE MINE,’ someone yells a split-second later, to the sound of people running and the clunks of pipes and heavy things being picked up.

‘TROUSERS.’

‘TEETH.’

‘SHIRT.’

‘I WANT HIS EYES . . .’

Osmosis comes to a stop as the people emerge into view. Mean-eyed, and clutching blades, sticks and lengths of pipe.

‘I’m having that hair,’ a bald guy says, pointing a knife at him.

‘Or,’ Karen says from behind, ‘you can stay.’

‘But it wouldn’t be willing. You said I had to be willing.’

‘The people I work for want to move Neon City. That’s what this is about. And they want to put it where your store is. They’ve got the plans drawn up. It’s just a matter of time now.’

‘And again. How does that make me willing?’ Osmosis asks, staring out at the Elforists holding back in fear of Karen.

‘Because, my dear,’ she says, with acid dripping from her tongue, ‘they’ve got plans for a nightclub that specialises in adult VR and holo girls slap bang in the middle of the new Neon City. All yours. Run by you. Your own girls in your own club. Your own real kingdom. Or you can go. I’ll even escort you to the stairs. Your choice. Like I said, I want you here willingly.’

‘And Dmitri?’ Osmosis asks, whispering the question as he looks at Karen.

‘Dmitri already has his kingdom,’ she says quietly, holding his eye-contact. ‘The Elfors are changing. The whole ship will change. You just need to pick which side you’re on.’

30

Wednesday Afternoon

The Ark

Sam closes his systems down and stares in awe at the digital display screen on the forward bulkhead. A display screen that acts like a window, giving a view of the outside as the shuttle approaches the vast bulk of the Ark.

The biggest thing humanity has ever made. Bigger than most cities back on Earth, and they say it’s so big that no living person has been into every room on board. Sam was never sure about that myth, but now he’s thinking it might actually be true as he stares at something so huge it boggles the mind. Scores of docking ports, all in a row, with shuttles already attached to tubes. A flash from the side, and a satellite flies silently by. More up and down the length of the vessel, and all of them trapped within the Ark’s gravitational pull.

They come in closer and his heart thrills at seeing spacewalkers working away on the hull in AI-controlled thermo-heated suits. Magnetic boots hold them to the skin of the ship, enabling them to walk about. Some of them appear upright, others upside down. A whole squad working together with tools in their hands and the long tether cables feeding air and keeping them secure.

It’s still said to be the most dangerous job in the fleet. Tethers break and magnets fail. A whole squad once died when the system fed them bad air. Too much oxygen, or maybe not enough, Sam can’t remember. But it’s not just the physical risks either, although they are plenty. It’s also the mental strain of going outside the safety of the ship into the freezing void again and again. It does something to the mind.

The shuttle changes course, adjusting and slowing as it moves to get side-on to the Ark and glides in with absolute precision, attaching to the docking tube with nothing more than a slight jolt.

He accesses his system while heading down the stairs to the exit and makes a call to Yasmine, but there’s no answer. He tries again. Still no answer. That feeling prickles inside again – that she came over here on her own and now she’s too busy doing something else. A second later and he berates himself for feeling needy and clingy – after all, she’s from the Elfors where people just do mad shit all the time. He needs to be more like that. More Elforish and manly.

He shrugs it off and sends a message to say he’s docking, then looks back up to the exciting world about him, hardly believing he’s about to step onto the Ark.

‘Have a great day,’ the shuttle worker says as Sam goes by.

‘Welcome to the Ark,’ the airlock worker says a few seconds later, smiling at the look of awe on Sam’s face. ‘First time?’

He nods at her, too overwhelmed to speak.

‘Well, just don’t get lost,’ she says with a wink, and Sam walks out, marvelling at the enormous concourse that’s just like his own back on the Humility, but without walls between this airlock and the next one. And the one after that. And the one after that too. Loads of them all in a row.

Everything is so clean and white. Gleaming, in fact. And so different to the creams and greys of the Humility, or the riot of colours on the Beijing. This is more industrial. More businesslike and professional.

He walks on, aiming nowhere and trying to see everything at once. Spotting groups of businesspeople in mesh suits with mini-mes over their shoulders. Coffee lounges and open-walled eateries dotted about, with more people filling the seats. Some behind screens, working away. Some dozing and waiting.

A huge bank of holo feeds to one side with live streams from the different news agencies, and a surreal moment comes to pass when Sam spots his hack of Confucius Square on one feed and his hack of the Humility on several others. People laughing as they watch the cute cartoon beaker, without any idea that the quiet guy behind them is the one who made it.

‘Fucking back again!’ A harsh voice makes him turn to see a squad of crew workers clad in stained orange overalls swearing and joshing about. Tough-looking men and women coming back for rotation. More crew workers in other groups too. Sets of uniforms everywhere. All colours. All races.

A thought, a sudden urge to try something, and Sam swipes his system to bring up the UV light as he makes his way past two groups of nuclear techs trading good-natured abuse as they swap rotation. He spots stick-figure tattoos on more than a few arms and necks.

It’s the same with the other teams and groups. A woman of rank within a group of green-clad finance workers has a stick figure tattoo on her arm.

He notices something else too; that once he’s seen the tattoos, he can tell they’re Elforists. The way they stand with chins high. Harder in the eyes and leaner. Just something about them. An aura, maybe. An energy.

A group of muscled security people go by, marked out by their tight-fitting black clothes and black boots. Sam snatches a quick glance and figures at least a third of them are Elforists, then he notices a squad of spacewalkers walking through the concourse like fighter pilots from an old Earth movie. Chiselled and heroic, and stick-figure tattoos on several of them.

He turns away with the same thought process he had earlier – that he is gaining a snapshot of what it is to be an Elforist. Hated on your own ship, but welcomed everywhere else to do the things nobody wants to do.

A moment later and he comes to another stop, seeing the wall of glass-fronted elevators shooting up and down at incredible speeds. Workers laughing as they rush to cram inside one, pushing and shoving each other. More people coming out and running to get shuttles.

‘You’re not listening!’ Yasmine’s voice sails over and Sam winces in preparation as he pushes through the crowd to see Yasmine and Sun Sing and a few other people standing behind an older woman in a smart mesh suit facing off against a bunch of uniformed cops. Another group of people behind them. Bruised and battered shuttle crews and an angry man with a busted nose.

‘Yasmine?’ Sam asks, rushing over.

‘Sam! Hey, oh my god. It just went nuts. Hang on . . .’ Yasmine says, grabbing his hand to pull him into the group as the older woman turns on one of the cops.

‘And exactly why should they keep their voices down? Those shuttles are full of crews swearing at each other who are never challenged. But two attractive women having a private discussion are immediately threatened, abused, assaulted and pinned down. My office will be contacting the shuttle operators and we will litigate. Now I suggest you escort those people away and leave my clients alone before you become part of that process!’

‘Marianne! That was amazing,’ Sun says in English.

‘You were brilliant,’ Yasmine says.

‘It should never have happened,’ Marianne says firmly. ‘I’ve never seen them admonish crew workers the way they went for you two. And who are you?’ she asks, turning on Sam.

‘Sam,’ Sam says, offering his hand.

‘He’s my boyfriend,’ Sun says.

‘He’s my boyfriend, actually,’ Yasmine says, shooting a look at Sun.

‘For now,’ Sun says, earning a middle finger from Yasmine.

‘Er, so I take it that was you then?’ Sam asks, pointing at a news feed showing a replay of the shuttle brawl.

‘But we didn’t start it,’ Sun says quickly.

‘We kinda did,’ Yasmine says. ‘I mean. With each other.’

‘Well yeah, duh. That was implied.’

‘It wasn’t implied! You said we didn’t start it.’

‘Ladies. Before you go for round two, I need to get on,’ Marianne says.

‘Sorry,’ Yasmine says with a wince, as Sun looks apologetic.

‘Don’t be. It’s been a pleasure. You have my details. Good luck with your search.’ She strides off with a nod at Sam, who slowly turns back to Sun and Yasmine.

‘What the fuck?’

‘I know, right. How cool is she?’ Yasmine says.

‘So awesome,’ Sun says, nodding emphatically. ‘I really want to tell my mom about Marianne, but she’ll go nuts.’

‘Yeah, maybe don’t tell her,’ Yasmine says. ‘She seems stressed enough as it is.’

‘You’re on the news,’ Sam says, pointing at the feeds.

‘She doesn’t watch the news,’ Sun says. ‘It’s too full of that Elfor crap going on, plus, you know, she doesn’t have time due to literally working all day and night to keep her business going because Abdul doesn’t give two fucks.’

‘Oh, here we go again,’ Yasmine says, rolling her eyes.

‘It’s the truth!’

‘Which is why we’re here,’ Yasmine snaps.

‘Yeah. Getting arrested because of your gob.’

‘What! I punched that guy cos he went for you.’

‘I didn’t need your help,’ Sun fires back as Sam gains an idea of how the brawl started.

‘Whatever. Right. Where do we go?’ Yasmine asks. Sun shrugs and both women turn to look at Sam. ‘You figured it out yet?’

‘Figured what out?’ Sam asks.

‘Where we should go.’

‘What for?’

‘For the stock!’

‘What stock?’

‘She just said,’ Sun says. ‘The missing stock. Come on. Let’s go look and do stuff.’

‘Oh my god, how are there two of you?’ Sam asks, looking between Yasmine and Sun.

‘What!? I’m nothing like her!’ Yasmine says.

‘Er, excuse me. I am way hotter, thank you, and I’m not a belly dancer. Plus she’s old as shit.’

‘I’m thirty!’

Sam lifts a finger and goes to speak but stays silent and blows air through his cheeks for a long second. ‘I’m going to get a coffee,’ he says before walking off.

‘What about the missing stock?’ Yasmine asks.

‘What fucking missing stock?!’ Sam snaps.

‘Hey, buddy,’ a cop calls, glaring at Sam. ‘Language, huh. We just had a serious incident because of swearing. Keep it down.’

Sam lifts a finger and goes to speak but stays silent and blows through his cheeks for another long second. ‘Coffee . . .’

31

Wednesday

Level 1

The Humility

‘Coffee,’ Helga tells the machine. She normally drinks coffee from fine china cups on fine china saucers, but the hell if she knows where they’re kept, and with no aides to ask there’s no choice but to make it herself in a beaker.

She takes her drink from the machine and heads back into her office, her mind now somewhat clearer after seeing how Abdul walked out to face the enemy with his head high. She thought he looked beaten yesterday – she’d even considered the possibility that he might flee the Humility if there was any real risk of the Elfors being sealed, and she’s still quite amazed that he hasn’t.

The election date will be announced on Saturday and normally Helga would have a say in choosing that date. That won’t happen now, and Pierre will ride this wave of anti-Elfor support to get a majority home, then he’ll surround himself with suck-ups and sycophants. They’ll freeze Abdul out or find reason to discredit him, and gain the majority needed to ram the mandate through.

Then the full hard border will come down and it won’t be stair guards with Taser rifles, but solid steel bulkheads. However – at some point before that hard border is put in place, the thousands of people within the Elfors will riot and charge the stairwells.

The whole thing will be absolute chaos, and therein lies the rub: because although chaos creates confusion, this isn’t Helga’s chaos. It’s Pierre’s, and she still cannot see why a grizzled old man who’s spent the last few years griping about his belly is suddenly so fired up and ready to unleash hell. What for? Who is behind him? And why is he isolating Helga? And why in the Fleet would he run for another term?

It has to be connected to the code. That’s the only thing it can be. There are only five people who knew about it: Helga, Pierre, Sully Singh, Carlos Vanquith and Fei Hung Shu.

Helga lost the code and has failed to get it back. Which in turn makes it look like Pierre has failed, so perhaps that’s why he’s become so hostile. Which is why Helga made the decision to go behind his back and reach out to the other captains.

She put calls into each of them, requesting they contact her directly, but the day is nearly gone without any response.

She tries again and opts for Sully Singh first. The captain of the worldship Kindness. The most nervous of them all and the most likely to blurt something out, but there’s no response.

She cuts it off and tries Captain Carlos Vanquith of the Abstinence. She knows Carlos well. No answer, not even from his personal line.

She curses inwardly and puts a call through to Fei Hung Shu, captain of the Chastity. They’ve always shared a mutual respect, but again there’s no answer. She moves to cut it off as it finally connects with Fei’s image blooming up showing her pressing a finger to her mouth, urging Helga to stay quiet as she heads into a bathroom and seals the door.

‘Helga, I’m so sorry,’ Fei whispers.

‘Fei, what’s going on?’

‘You need to get off your ship. Come over to the Chastity. I’ll give you refuge.’

‘Refuge from what?’ Helga asks but Fei just shakes her head. ‘Fei, I do not understand a word of this.’

‘This is bigger than us, Helga. I have to go. Don’t call me again.’

‘Fei!’ Helga says, but the call cuts off and she sits alone in her silent office trying to process what the hell that meant. Trying to understand it, but it’s not clear. None of it is.

But one thing is for sure. Fei pretty much said she isn’t safe, and sitting here alone suddenly doesn’t seem so wise. She rushes into the bathroom to check her reflection and grabs her smart cream mesh jacket before striding through her office to strike the panel on the door, thinking to call Jorgey and arrange to meet somewhere public.

‘Going somewhere?’ Pierre asks, standing on the other side.

‘I’m meeting someone. If you’ll excuse me.’

He doesn’t move, but stares at her before stepping forward with his bulk, forcing her to back up.

‘Pierre, really. I don’t have time for this,’ she says as Roger and the other security guys walk into her office behind Pierre, the last one hitting the panel to seal the door. ‘Are you here to threaten me again?’ she asks, watching the security team move deeper into her room.

‘I’m running for captaincy again.’

‘I heard. What is this?’

‘You will stand down.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You will stand down, Helga,’ he says with a deep sigh, moving past her with a nod to his team as Roger grabs the antique sofa and turns it over, while one of the other guys kicks a chair into the wall. ‘You’ve decided that politics is no longer for you . . .’

She flinches from her coffee table being thrown after the chair as Roger heaves her antique oak drinks cabinet over with a loud smash.

‘And, after careful reflection, you understand that your leniency has only added to the whole Elfor crisis, which is why you have decided to leave the Humility.’

Her desk is next, with everything swept off the top before it gets heaved over. Paintings ripped from the walls and smashed, furniture broken up, and in the bathroom her vials and pots are thrown over the floor.

‘In your final press statement you will say you support both my campaign and the final resolution, and that you condemn that fucking upstart Abdul Shariff after hearing he was behind the murders and robbery.’

‘What the hell has got into you? Do you think your thugs scare me? Do not underestimate me, Pierre.’

‘I don’t. I know you’re a fucking cunt, Helga.’

‘GET OUT!’ she screams, but the men don’t react and her hands ball to fists at her sides, before an idea comes to mind. ‘Fuck you, Pierre.’ she swipes her wristband, thinking to go live right now, but Roger moves in and clamps a huge hand over it. She tries to wrench away as another guard grabs her other arm. ‘Get your hands off me right now!’

Roger yanks her into him and clamps a hand over her mouth as Pierre walks over.

‘And then, after your last statement, you will leave this ship. I understand Fei has offered you refuge. I suggest you take it – and Helga, do not try to call Sully or Carlos again. They’re captains, and captains are busy people.’

‘I will fucking end you, Pierre,’ she hisses when Roger pulls his hand away. ‘So help me god I will end you . . .’

A nod from Pierre and she’s wrenched from her feet and bent over her desk. Another hand over her mouth. More hands gripping her wrists and holding her in place as her trousers are gripped and yanked down as a fresh wave of fear and disbelief surges inside at the men laughing at her bare backside.

‘You’ve got old, Helga,’ Pierre says before slapping her backside hard as they fall back to the door.

She surges up with rage, grabbing whatever she can find to fling at them while trying to tug her trousers up, but the men just laugh harder.

‘GET OUT!’ She screams it until they go, and she screams it after they’ve left until the horror hits. The threat of it. The humiliation. She staggers back, tripping over and landing against her desk to stare at the door. Her body trembling from head to toe, and the greatest humiliation comes when she starts to cry.

32

Wednesday Afternoon

The Beijing

Zhang would cry too, if he wasn’t busy hiding, because the way this day is going it’ll either be death by Leo or being stalked and Tasered by Po and dragged back to his mom. And, honestly, they’re pretty much the same in Zhang’s head.

He slept in an alley tucked up at the back of some units in New Shanghai last night. That was after watching Kristi Carter sleep, which when said back still sounds creepy as hell, but it wasn’t at the time, and for some weird reason it soothed the troubles in Zhang’s mind. Maybe because she seemed so angelic in her near-silent repose, and it made him yearn for a thing that could never be.

Then several things happened in quick succession that made him end the call. The first was that Kristi let rip such a huge fart she woke herself up and rolled on her back, and in so doing exposed one of her breasts from her unbuttoned shirt. Which he noted was actually his shirt. And that was enough for the sex addiction to rear up, so he switched it off for fear of Kristi Carter waking up to see him masturbating. Which wouldn’t do his sleazy sex-pest reputation any favours.

Then, very early this morning, several other things also happened in quick succession.

The first was that he felt a tickle on his face and slowly woke to feel a big fat cockroach crawling over his chin. Zhang, being a brave detective, calmly reached up to flick it off, which is when the big Chinese Huntsman spider decided to leap for the prey it had been stalking – that being the same big fat cockroach currently crawling over Zhang’s chin. And Zhang, while still being a brave detective, suddenly found his face covered not only by one panicking cockroach, but also by a very big spider trying to eat it, which Zhang decided was not cool because while he can handle space-roaches, space-spiders can go fuck themselves, and in the panic of the moment he promptly punched himself in the face, missing both the spider and the roach but hitting his own nose. At which point the roach made a bolt for Zhang’s thick hair and in the next few seconds he smacked himself on the head five times, headbutted the wall twice and ripped his top off in a fresh surge of fear that the spider had gone down his back. Which it hadn’t, because it was happily sitting on top of the roach a few feet away, watching Zhang dance about half-naked beating his own head and face.

‘You alright, friend?’ Bohai asked, leaning around the end of the alley to see what the noise was about while out hunting for Zhang.

‘Huntsman on my face!’ Zhang said, not realising it was Bohai.

‘Urgh, nasty,’ Bohai said with a grimace. ‘They released them to control the roaches.’

‘Fucking stupid idea!’

‘I know, right,’ Bohai said with a snort as Zhang finally looked over. Which prompted a surreal second of double takes as each recognised the other.

‘Argh!’ Zhang said, and just for a second he thought to throw the spider at Bohai, but the spider didn’t appear to like that idea so Zhang legged it instead, running topless with his clothes in his hand straight into one of Leo’s other men and Zhang, being a forward thinking chap, threw his clothes into the guy’s face and kicked him in the balls. Which, he failed to notice, he would not have been able to do had the spider not landed on his face in the first place.

Instead, he gave the guy another kick for good measure, grabbed his Taser pistol and shot Bohai, who promptly fell over an inch from the spider still crunching on the roach.

Zhang then ran away into an all-night eatery and hid behind a table.

‘You got a thing for my tables or something?’ the waitress asked, this being the same waitress who had caught him hiding under this same table in this same eatery when he saw Penny and Yasmine. She frowned and pointed at her own nose. ‘You’re bleeding. And why are you half-naked?’

‘Spider.’

‘What did you do? Promise to call and take it out on a date?’

‘Eh?’

‘You said you’d call and take me out on a date.’

Zhang blinked up at her from behind the table. ‘Yes. Yes, I did say that. Er, but . . .’

She gave him a look then checked about for a second. ‘I think the spider’s gone. You can come out. Coffee?’

‘Coffee would be great.’

‘I said you can come out now.’

‘You did say that,’ he replied, staying put because he’d looked at the waitress’s legs which only served to wake his addiction up to another bright and fun day of torture.

‘Get out from behind the table before I throw something at you . . . like another table.’

‘Sure,’ Zhang said, standing up with a tactical deployment of clothes over his groin and checking outside to make sure he hadn’t been seen. ‘So . . . er . . . on the night shift? Been busy?’

She shook her head. ‘Only the locals. And a gang of spiders came in, but apparently waitresses aren’t their thing. Who knew?’ she asked, glancing down at his torso with a sudden frown. ‘Wow, spiders have long nails these days. Come on, you can hide out the back with a coffee.’

He followed her past the counter to the back kitchen and headed inside. The place still in darkness. No other customers and he wondered why an eatery in New Shanghai would stay open all night. Then he figured it’s right by the stairwell to the Hutongs so maybe it gets their passing trade.

‘Coffee,’ she said, walking in to see him pulling his shirt back on. ‘Aw, no show for me?’

‘Thanks,’ he said, taking the coffee. ‘Appreciate it. How much?’

‘Freebie. It’s not every night we get hot guys being chased by spiders with long nails.’

He smiled at the wisecrack and took a sip with a grateful sigh. ‘You worked here long?’

‘Long enough. Why? Gonna marry me and take me away? That happens you know. I’ve seen it on holo-movies. Guy runs in and falls in love with the sexy waitress.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Sure. Happens all the time,’ she said with a smile as he took another glug of coffee. ‘So? How about it?’ she asked, while leaning back to look out the door.

‘It’s a great offer, but I should go.’

She looked back at him again with a fleeting glimpse of worry. ‘You don’t need to go yet. Drink your coffee . . . and you should wipe that blood off.’

‘Honestly, it’s fine.’

She grabbed a wet wipe from the side and as she stepped in close to dab the blood away he noticed the top of her shirt showing more cleavage than a moment ago.

‘Gets lonely working nights,’ she whispered, tracing a finger down her neck to her chest and the material holding her shirt together. Opening it a bit more, and his addiction surged up at the same time as the klaxon sounded in his head: two opposing forces demanding attention. ‘Nice to have a bit of company . . . ’

‘I need to go,’ he said, but she opened her shirt to expose her underwear in a way that was too quick and too clumsy and too keen for him to see that the firmness in her eyes was not the normal look he saw when he was seducing women. Then her hand reached out to grab his dick over his trousers in a way that suggested she knew what to do, but it wasn’t right. Everything about it was too forced. She was too sassy, and something about the way she made wisecracks too. A lone woman working night shift in a diner does not invite men into the kitchen and grab their dicks. But damn, it felt good. Too good, and he couldn’t move or break the contact.

‘You wanna fuck me?’ She asked it like a hooker, then glanced behind at the open door.

He looked past her too, and caught sight of the holo screen used to give food orders to the cooks. The eatery logo and name at the top. Chinese characters that he’d glanced at but taken no notice of.

Loud Leo’s Diner

He snapped his head back to her with realisation showing in his eyes. ‘Fucking bitch . . .’

‘Girl’s gotta eat, you dumb prick . . .’

‘MAYLIN?’ a voice called from outside.

‘HE’S IN HERE!’

Zhang tried to twist away but she slammed a heavy pot into his head, forcing him back into a counter with beakers and bowls scattering over the floor. She was quick too, and pressed the attack to keep him busy, whacking him with the pot. ‘GET IN HERE!’

A guy rushed in with a voltage stick crackling as Zhang exploded out and slammed Maylin into him, her back arching as she hit the voltage stick. Another man behind them with another voltage stick. Zhang reacted quickly, grabbing his wrist and driving it into Maylin’s shoulder.

She screamed out from the pain of two sticks, veins pushing out with every muscle locked tight, and the front of her skirt grew dark as she pissed herself.

He pulled back to let Maylin crumple to the floor and snatched the pot to ram into the face of the man directly behind her who slammed back into the guy behind him with a vicious double headbutt.

A shout from the side and a barbed needle clanged off the pot with a spark as Zhang spun about to see another man running in, firing a Taser pistol. Zhang threw the pot at him, smashing him in the face. The guy went down with a yelp and Zhang leapt over him as Maylin staggered from the kitchen, piss-soaked and raging, with a stack of bowls in her hands that she started launching after Zhang, clunking him on the back of the head as he bust free of the eatery and ran once more into the lanes and walkways of New Shanghai, before ducking into a public toilet to hide in a cubicle. Hunkering down and gasping for air.

He stayed there for a good while, using the facilities to drink water and wash the blood off, and only once the lights were up and people were out for the day did he head up to New Beijing to hide within the already tourist-packed walkways. Into a store. A new shirt and a fizz ball for his mouth. His old shirt dumped in a bin, and he walked back to the eatery from where he could see the hotel, and finally sat at a table with a coffee and a hot roll.

Two sips of coffee and one bite later, and Yasmine stormed out of the hotel with a look of fury on her face, striding fast into the lanes as Zhang weaved and ran through the crowds behind her.

‘Zhang!’

A shout from behind. A snatched look back to see Po trying to get through the dense groups and, just as he thought to run, Yasmine abruptly turned and slammed into Po, giving Zhang a chance to get clear and duck into a narrow side alley out of sight.

He sagged with relief, giving himself a small inward cheer of victory that he had kept hold of the hot roll and beaker of coffee. All he had to was wait a few minutes and double-back to the hotel to resume watching. Disaster averted, and he lifted the roll to his mouth as Po walked into the alley and shot him.

33

Wednesday Afternoon

Level 30

The Humility

‘Hi! I’m Johnny Johnson. And with me now is Clara. A resident of the Elfors, and a human protection specialist who has formerly worked as a security operative on the Ark. Clara, what do you make of this protest?’

‘It’s breaking my heart. The people in this protest are good folk and they’re being dragged into something that just ain’t true. You don’t fight hate with hate, sugar. Y’all just need to talk this out.’

‘Okay, time out,’ Penny calls when the interview ends.

‘How’s our stats?’ Abdul asks.

‘I’ll find out,’ Penny says, making a call to Sam. ‘Sam! Hey. We’re after a stats check.’

‘Okay, hang on,’ Sam says, at a table in an eatery within the vast open concourse of the Ark. Sun and Yasmine opposite him. ‘Okay. It’s gone down to 75%. The table hack is trending top ten and the feedback on that little beaker has gone insane.’

‘Good lad, Sam!’ Abdul calls, leaning into the call and frowning at the backdrop behind Sam. ‘Are you on the Ark?’

‘Er . . .’ Sam says, while Yasmine slices a hand back and forth across her own throat. ‘Yes,’ he says, as Yasmine sags and rolls her eyes.

‘Why are you on the Ark?’ Penny asks with alarm, as Clara leans into the call, with Colin and Pasha trying to squeeze in behind.

‘Did Yassy run?’ Abdul asks. ‘I knew she’d run. I knew it!’

‘Give me that thing,’ Yasmine says, leaning over to twist the screen about. ‘I’m right here. Happy now?’

‘Yassy! I knew you wouldn’t run,’ Abdul says.

‘Yeah, I wasn’t that confident if I’m honest,’ Penny says. ‘Why are you on the Ark?’

Yasmine narrows her eyes and thinks for a second. ‘Day trip?’

‘Like fuck, Dufont. What are you up to?’ Penny asks.

‘Okay. Listen, you said we need to be seen working right? Cos of the . . . you know.’

‘The thing,’ Sam mouths with a big nod. ‘You know . . . the thing . . .’

‘Is he fitting again?’ Abdul asks.

‘He means the code,’ Penny whispers as everyone shushes her. ‘I was whispering! Anyway, Yassy, go on.’

‘So I thought why not be seen here, too.’

‘I thought you were looking for the missing stock?’ Sun asks, as everyone in the holo call snaps heads right towards the new voice.

‘Great, well done, Sun. I wasn’t going to tell them.’

‘Has Yassy got a son?’ Pasha asks.

‘Me. I’m Sun,’ Sun says, leaning into the call.

‘What the fuck!’ Penny says, staring in horror. ‘Oh god, tell me you’re not together.’

‘We are,’ Sun says. ‘We’re lovers now and sharing Sam.’

‘What the shit?’ Abdul asks.

‘Sam, wow,’ Colin says. ‘Impressed.’

‘We’re not!’ Yasmine says, giving Sun a glare.

We are, Sun mouths.

‘Has Yassy really got a son?’ Pasha asks.

‘No!’ many people reply at once.

‘Sun Sing,’ Penny says. ‘Her mother’s Yolo Sing.’

‘Yolo?’ Abdul asks. ‘Sun! I didn’t recognise you.’

‘Because you’ve neglected your fucking business to the point my mom is going to end up back in the Hutongs.’

‘I see,’ Abdul says. ‘I’ll leave you with Penny. Love to your mom.’

‘I’m sorry, what has that got to do with you being on the Ark with Yassy and Sam?’ Penny asks.

‘Fuck me. Do none of you listen?’ Sun asks. ‘The missing stock.’

‘What fucking missing stock?’

‘That’s what I said before a cop told me off,’ Sam says.

‘Pen, it’s fine. Do your thing and let me do mine,’ Yasmine says.

‘What thing?!’ Penny snaps before blasting air with a realisation that telling Yasmine to do anything is a waste of time. ‘You know what? Do what you need to do, Yassy. But Sam needs to work.’

‘He is. He said he can do it anywhere. Colin! Quick, that plant’s gonna bite Abdul,’ Yasmine says, as Colin spins about as Pasha and Clara burst out laughing.

‘Sam, please just stay on it,’ Penny says.

‘I will. I promise,’ Sam says.

‘And please don’t let them fight, or get arrested, or fight other people, or riot, or break things, or steal anything . . .’

‘She sounds like my mom,’ Sun says.

‘I’ll check in later,’ Penny says, wanting to ask a whole bunch of questions but knowing she simply doesn’t have the time for anything other than the crisis right in front of her, and the call cuts out.

* * *

‘She seems really stressed,’ Yasmine says. ‘Is it still going bad then?’

‘Off the chart,’ Sam replies.

‘Yeah, hey, let’s all worry about the Elfors and, like, nothing else in the fleet,’ Sun says.

‘Sorry. Hang on a sec,’ Sam says, going back to the conversation they were having before Penny called. ‘You both came over here to try and find out about the missing stock on the deliveries.’

‘Yes,’ they both say.

‘Without talking to each other.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the plan, that you both had, without talking to each other, was to poke about and see what you could see.’

‘Yes.’

‘On the single biggest thing that the human species has ever built. A spaceship so enormous it’s said that no living person has been into every room on board. A thing with a gravitational pull so strong that every other ship in the fleet has to be corrected so they don’t crash into it. This ship. The thing we’re on now. You’re going to look about and see what’s going on.’

‘Yes,’ Yasmine says. ‘Anyway. Shall we get on? Er, any idea which way?’

‘Yeah I was thinking that way,’ Sun says, pointing over to the far side.

‘Cool.’

‘Fuck me,’ Sam mutters, opening another screen. ‘Seriously? You were just going to walk about?’

‘Yeah, and ask people obviously,’ Yasmine says. ‘Amazing what you can find out when you just chat.’

‘Yeah, and you know, show them your belly and offer a dance,’ Sun adds.

‘What the fuck! Why do you keep saying that?’

‘Cos of that ridiculous outfit you wore.’

‘I didn’t choose it!’

‘Aw, did your pimp make you wear it?’

‘You know what? Fuck you. Go and look on your own.’

‘Fine! Suits me.’

‘Good!’ Yasmine says, surging to her feet as both women head off in the same direction with another squabble breaking out.

Sam finishes his coffee before getting to his feet to stretch before walking between Sun and Yasmine. ‘It’s this way.’

‘What is?’ they both ask, sharing stink-eyes before rushing after him.

‘Section 6,’ he says without looking back. ‘The Ark is sectional. That’s how it operates. It’s insanely clever, really. Each section sort of feeds into the next one. The Nuclear Section looks after the engines, which is next to Air, Water and Power, which is next to Maintenance which then feeds into Farming and Medicals which feeds into Manufacturing and Production which is next to Section 6 for Supply. But then each section has their own departments, and we need the syndicated network supply hub.’

He comes to a stop in front of the elevators and looks up as elevator number 6 drops into sight with a rapid deceleration. The doors open and the people inside rush out before the waiting crowd piles in, but Sam holds still so he can enter last, and be closest to the glass doors for the best view.

you are in elevator number 6 for supply.

please exit now if you require another destination.

The doors close and the concourse drops away as the elevator shoots up, passing through the flooring to the next level.

It’s just amazing. The whole of it. The all of it, and it’s everything Sam wanted to see since he was a child. To be on the Ark and even glimpsing these levels is something else. This is what space travel should be about. Functional and purposeful with trained people doing clever things to keep it all working. A proper spaceship in space, and so far removed from the Elfors and Neon City and his own tiny airlock on Level 30 to make it seem like it’s another world.

reaching Section 6: enjoy your day.

The doors open and they get swept out by the exodus of workers bundling into the corridor and setting off with purpose and direction.

‘Which way?’ Sun asks.

‘I’ll have to check,’ Sam says, bringing his system up.

‘Everyone seems to be heading that way,’ Yasmine says, walking off down the corridor. ‘Ah, the travelator thing is here . . .’

Sam rushes over to see wide sections on either side of the corridor with moving belts set within the floor. One going away, another coming at them.

‘It’s just a running machine,’ Yasmine says.

‘No, it’s a travelator!’ Sam says with a grin as he steps on and shoots off along the corridor. ‘Quick! Catch me up.’

Sun jumps on with Yasmine going after as Sam tries running back with all three colliding and bursting out laughing.

‘God it’s so hard,’ Sun says, giggling as she tries to run back the other way. ‘Try it – argh! My legs are burning!’

‘I’m done,’ Sam gasps, giving up and leaning into the sides to watch the world go by. Staring at the white walls covered in stencilled letters giving directions and orders.

Everything about the place holds wonder for him. The same wonder he had when he saw the Elfors for the first time, and the same with the Hutongs and New Beijing. A thing inside of him that lights up at the diversity of life, but this is different. The Ark has meaning for him. A connection to his past.

The belt comes to a natural end, feeding them to a stepping-off point near a wide entrance with a sign above it in painted letters.

Section 6 Main Hub

They head through into a cavernous area. A main walkway ahead, wide and bustling and filled with people in motion, and Sam almost groans in pleasure at seeing electric shuttle carts gliding along on anti-grav strips carrying heavy loads.

Cabins stacked three high. Stairs and sloped walkways leading up to overhead gantries, each one with a painted reference number alongside 3-D signs giving the names of businesses and services within. Apple supply hub. Amazon supply hub. Nike. FleetZ-KidZ. Starbucks. The Void, and many more.

‘Lot of security,’ Yasmine says quietly, almost to herself. Sam glances at her, wondering how she spotted the anti-hacking spheres so easily, then notices she’s staring at the guards on the doors to the cabins checking people before they enter. ‘Might be harder than we thought, but then these are the big chains. We don’t need these, and I doubt security will be as tight for the lower end stuff. Saying that, there’s always a way past a guard.’

Sam watches the way Yasmine scans and processes the things she needs to see, and looks past the things that excite him, and he realises this is Yasmine at work. Casing a job. Appearing casual and not doing anything to draw attention.

They go deeper into the sprawling township and within seconds find themselves in the hustle and bustle of a busy place full of industry and purpose. It’s the same mix of races and ethnicities as everywhere else, but with nearly everyone in a uniform of sorts. No children either. Just adults, and because of that the background noise feels different and somehow less frantic.

‘The centre must be ahead somewhere,’ Yasmine says.

‘How can you tell?’ Sam asks as Sun glances at Yasmine.

‘Lanes are all leading this way. And a place this size needs a central point. People always need to eat and relax.’

Sam looks ahead, seeing she was right and this walkway, along with several others, feeds into one central area with bars and eateries packed in side by side, and smaller lanes running between them.

They head in to see a few stores selling basic clothing and the things people might need while on rotation. Personal hygiene kits. Takeout food to eat in dorms, and plenty of places selling uniforms, boots and gear for work. Utility belts and safety clothing. They reach yet another central point.

A small open area within the social zone filled with the first plants they’ve seen since arriving. Big bushy things, contrasting weirdly with the near-austere functionality. A bank of screens blooming up showing news channels and the like. Chi-Chi singing her latest song, dancing away. ‘Whacka whacka dum dum, the beat goes on . . .’

‘Seen that,’ Sun says with a grin, nodding at one of the feeds showing Sam’s hack of the table-lady standing over Jean Schreiber. People watching it and laughing as they listen via their own interfaces and ear gels. The table-lady disappears and the beaker comes into view as a cheer goes up.

‘I love it!’ a big Russian guy shouts in accented English. ‘That beaker, Da!’

‘He’s so cute,’ a woman adds. ‘His little skinny legs and arms.’

‘Wow,’ Yasmine says, looking at Sam. ‘Doesn’t it blow your mind?’

‘What’s that mean?’ Sun asks, frowning at them.

‘Means mind your own business,’ Yasmine says. ‘Right, what’s the play? I’m thinking we mooch around and get a feel for the place.’

‘Cool. Sam? What are you going to do?’ Sun asks.

‘What do you mean? He’s coming with us.’

‘Okay, and how does that work?’ Sun asks.

‘How does what work?’ Sam says, struggling to keep up with the conversation.

‘She wants us to go and look about without you,’ Yasmine says as Sun smiles at a guy walking by who suddenly puffs his chest out and winks back at her.

‘Oh, I get it!’ Sam says. ‘You mean you two go undercover like covert spies pretending to be new arrivals and the guys are spilling the beans about everything because they just see two really hot chicks.’

‘Wow,’ Sun says. ‘That was very descriptive.’

‘Did you just call her hot?’ Yasmine asks.

‘I am hot.’

‘Yes, but he can’t see that. I mean say that. Whatever. Don’t call Sun hot.’

‘I love it,’ Sam says eagerly. ‘You should do that. Oh, I know! I can be the back-up guy! Like in the holo movies. The spies go in and I’m the techy mastermind in the background, ready to help out with hacks and clever stuff. Like when they get chased by guards and I’m on call, using schematics and overriding security doors so they can get away. Fuck yes! Best day ever. We should do that.’

‘Can you do all that stuff, Sam? Like hacking and things,’ Sun asks.

‘Yeah.’

‘We’re not doing it!’

‘I love it,’ Sun says, nodding at them both. ‘We’re these sassy master-thieves with our hot back-up guy monitoring us.’

‘Stop calling each other hot! I just realised I am way more jealous than I thought I was.’

‘Fuck off, Yassy, I’m not going to touch your boyfriend. Unless, you know, he leaves you for being a complete bitch – joke! I’m joking. Come on, it’s a good idea. Sam’s up for it.’

‘There is a way of doing these things, Sun. And trying to be sexy in a place like this won’t work.’

‘Are you seriously telling me you’ve never used that to get what you want?’

‘Used what?’

‘That!’ Sun says, pointing at Yasmine’s face. ‘And those,’ she adds, pointing at her chest.

‘No!’

‘Really?’

‘I said no,’ Yasmine says, ignoring the look from Sam because she did exactly that to lure him into robbing the Finance offices. ‘That was different. I liked you.’

‘Listen,’ Sun says. ‘My mom is about to lose her business and end up back in the Hutongs scrubbing floors and toilets for fourteen hours a day. Where are you going?’ she asks as Sam rushes off.

‘Back in a mo!’ He runs back to one of the stores he saw on the way in, reappearing with three sets of ear gels that he opens and synchs to his interface. ‘Okay, put them in,’ he says, pushing one set into his own ears. ‘Sun, move off a few steps and I’ll go over here . . .’ He backs away to the other side of a crowd, while grinning at Yasmine. ‘Sierra Golf to Yankee Delta over.’

‘Oh wow.’ Yasmine laughs, cocking her head to one side. ‘I can hear you perfectly.’

‘And me,’ Sun adds, walking around from the other side of the plants.

‘We’ve got an open channel,’ Sam says. ‘Just touch them on and off and they’ll connect instantly.’

‘Er, don’t you need to access my interface to do that?’ Sun says.

‘I just did.’

‘You hacked me?!’

‘I said I’m a hacker.’

‘Yeah, but don’t hack me!’

‘You wanted him to do this stupid idea,’ Yasmine says.

‘Yeah, the spies thing, not looking at my naked pictures.’

‘I didn’t look at anything!’

‘Why do you have naked pictures?’ Yasmine asks.

‘Who doesn’t have naked pictures?’

‘I don’t! Sam doesn’t.’

‘Yeah, right. Sam? Have you got naked pictures?’

‘We’re getting off-topic,’ Sam says quickly.

‘Sam! Have you got naked pictures?’ Yasmine asks.

‘Right. Are we doing this or what?’ Sun asks.

‘I need to work anyway,’ Sam says.

‘Okay. Fine. But we do it my way,’ Yasmine tells Sun.

‘Who put you in charge? Just cos you’re old.’

‘I will fuck you up.’

‘And I’ll drink coffee and get earache,’ Sam says, walking off with an urge to get back online and leave them to it.

He finds a quiet eatery, orders a coffee and sets up on a table at the back where he can work unobserved. He glances around, looking at the walls and the ceiling, the tables and chairs and the adverts outside, and he thinks about everything he’s seen since stepping onto the concourse.

Strange emotions inside. Not bad ones or anything too raw, but just a weird feeling. The Ark is amazing and being here is something else. Sam has always wanted to see it. Not only because of what it is, but because it’s the place his mom and dad worked. They were here. On this ship.

They were commuting back for rotation when the shuttle crash happened, and their bodies were thrown out into the freezing void with thousands of others. It was captured on camera and replayed throughout the whole fleet. Two shuttles ramming into each other with bulkheads and seats and human forms turning end on end, bouncing off the debris, and such was the speed of the entire fleet and the trajectory of the crash that there was absolutely no chance of any rescue. The fleet simply flew on and within a few moments the whole thing was gone from sight. Left behind in space.

Now he’s here. On the same ship where they worked. Seeing the things they saw. Twenty-five years have passed since they were here, but that doesn’t matter – the connection, that tendril reaching out from so long ago seems to shape the emotions he is feeling now, and the way his life has changed since meeting Yasmine. He spent all those years alone, but now suddenly he has friends, and his life has depth and meaning, and those emotions mingle with his thoughts about the Elfor crisis. The people he’s met. People like Clara and Penny. Colin and the others. The Elforists he’s seen with stick-figure tattoos. They all somehow merge and generate a feeling inside, with a glimpse of lives so very different to his own.

Sam comes from the world of up top where everything is sterile and mundane. Where all the menial jobs are done by an invisible workforce.

A world where politicians are either like Jean Schrieber – with a projected perception of protected entitlement – or like Pierre Jefferson with his no-nonsense, gruff manner that oozes power and gravitas, and there is no way Abdul can compete with that staggering sense of self-importance. Trying to make Abdul sound like Jean or Pierre won’t work, and any attempt just comes across as poor mimicry.

That’s what Sam was trying to tell Penny in the hotel room on the Beijing when he got tongue-tied and embarrassed: that Abdul isn’t Jean, and trying to make him sound normal is like trying to tell Yasmine not to do something. It’s futile. They’re not from that sterile, dull world, but from a place of colour and noise, and they’re both filled with that same frenetic energy, too.

This is more than just about Abdul and Jean. This is about a people who have almost become a new race. This is about Elforists and the rights of people. This is about the fear of change, and how good people do bad things when they’re only given one view.

That’s why Jean is getting attention. Because he’s tapping into fears whipped up over generations. And it’s not the first time humanity has done that.

His ideas start flowing as he sets to work. Notions and images in his mind. He starts poring over footage. opening more holo feeds to select clips that he edits and drags through the air to stack to one side. His fingers blur over his virtual keyboard while, not far away, Sun and Yasmine make their way through the lanes and walkways, getting a feel for the place as Yasmine tuts and rolls her eyes at the barrage of questions from Sun.

‘First pickpocket?’ Sun asks.

‘Eight.’

‘Ha! Seven. First shoplifting?’

‘Twelve.’

‘Screw you. I was ten, and I got arrested so I can prove it.’

‘Shit thief if you got arrested.’

‘First dead body?’ Sun asks. ‘Seen and touched. Mine was four years old. Old guy got stabbed outside our cabin. And touched was five, because it was my birthday the day after and my brother dared me to poke him. You?’

‘Same,’ Yasmine says, looking around to take everything in. ‘This woman landed on top of our shack when the grav-drives failed and literally exploded. Honestly, it was insane. Her heart fell in our tube. Penny threw it at me, then Guphy tried to eat it.’

* * *

Not far from them and deep within the vast Entertainment Section the walls shake as Chi-Chi and her dancers perform to a bhangra beat while filming an Indian-infused Bollywood version of ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum’. Swirling, leaping and landing deftly in a wide stance, to a Bollywood-style move. Hands out. Head side to side. ‘CUT!’ the director yells, waving his arms as the music drops out. ‘Grab a drink and get ready to reset. We’ll go from the top.’

The dancers break away and rush to the buffet table to grab water as Chi-Chi stretches her hamstrings. A slender Indian woman, and now the fleet’s most successful recording artist. ‘Girls, you’re doing so well,’ she calls over to the dancers, to keep them energised so they can get it right for the live show they’re doing on the Beijing on Friday. She frowns at the dancers all huddled together and strolls over to see them watching the holo feed of the Table-Lady and the little Beaker.

‘He’s so cute!’ one of them says as Chi-Chi laughs, thinking the same, but her smile fades when she glances past the cartoon to the protest on the stairwell. The placards and signs glowing in the air. No More Excuses. Final Resolution. Seal The Elfors. Lock The Scum Away.

Chi-Chi was called scum too, because she grew up in the Bustees, the slum area on board the Mumbai, and she remembers the hardship they faced. The hunger and filth they lived in and how hard she worked to claw her way out of there, but at least she could get out. She could sing and dance and she refused to take no for an answer. She scrubbed toilets and worked in kitchens to pay for a one-way trip to the Ark after an executive made a passing comment in reply to a sample track she’d sent over. Pop in if you’re ever on the Ark and we’ll have a chat.

She took that chance and she waited two days for a meeting. Growing hungry and desperate until she finally got her five-minute slot. Now here she is, and those executives work for her.

‘Okay! Reset,’ the director calls. ‘From the top. Chi-Chi? You ready?’

* * *

Sam types on. People stroll in for a coffee break but pay him no heed. The Hub is full of people working at tables. Sam is no different so he blends in, which is what Yasmine is trying to do as she walks along another walkway with Sun. Simply absorbing and getting the vibe of the place. Reading the signs and learning where she is in time and space.

‘Hi guys!’ Sun says on seeing a group of workers in red coveralls standing nearby and she walks over to them. Smiling broadly as Yasmine tuts inwardly and goes after her. ‘How’s it going?’ Sun asks.

‘Hey,’ one of them says, frowning with his mates at the interruption. ‘You lost?’

‘Nope, just bored,’ Sun says in a way that makes one or two smile while the rest share awkward glances.

‘You work here?’ one of them asks.

‘I wish. It seems so much fun,’ Sun says, trying to josh about and impress Yasmine with her skills. ‘No, we’re in supply, but we thought we’d have a look around as we’ve never been here before. You know. Chat to some guys and have a laugh . . . So, hey, what’s it like then?’

‘Sorry, what?’ one of them asks with a confused expression. ‘Sorry. Who are you? What network are you?’

‘Er, we’re with the . . .’ Sun starts to say, realising they aren’t smiling back with her.

‘Syndicated network supply,’ Yasmine says, taking over. ‘I’m just doing some basic familiarisation with my new colleague. Anyway. What are you, the network police or something?’ she asks the guy, giving him a look and a smile as his mates laugh. ‘Eh? He likes the interrogations. I bet he does. Ah, he’s laughing now. Yeah so, that’s it really. I said I’d bring my new colleague over and see what the famous Section 6 is all about. You guys look busy though. We’ll catch you later.’ They walk off as Yasmine holds quiet before glancing back to make sure they can’t be heard. ‘What the hell was that?’

‘It was fine!’ Sun says, instantly defensive. ‘Men love it when women walk up to them.’

‘No, they don’t. You went in way too fast. Honestly, that’s not how it’s done. We should have waited nearby and looked lost, then one of them would have called us over, which would have been way more natural, and plays to the whole manly thing of helping a woman.’ She comes to a stop, looking around and spotting a busy junction where three walkways meet and heads over to the corner. ‘Just stand here for a minute and look lost,’ she says as Sun immediately adopts a striking pose. ‘What the fuck is that? Are you an explorer? Just stand normally. Jesus. I thought you were a thief.’

‘I am!’

Yasmine tuts at her and frowns lightly while looking about. ‘Okay, that’s our mark. See that guy walking towards us? Don’t stare at him. Glance, then look away. Did you see him?’

‘Yeah, black jacket.’

‘What else?’

‘What else what?’

‘What else did you see about him?’

‘Er . . . he had a holo screen open.’

‘It’s a virtual clipboard, which means he works here, but he’s not a manual worker. He’s dressed like a manager. Mid-ranking though. His shoes aren’t expensive and his hair needs cutting. Execs are pushed into all looking the same way. He also looks stressed and tired which suggests he’s married with kids and probably fed up with being on rotation…’ She falls silent, glancing about and blowing air through her cheeks as she times the guy’s approach. ‘Was it that way?’

‘What way?’ Sun asks, trying to see what Yasmine’s on about as the guy glances over.

‘Hey, you okay?’ he asks, slowing as he walks past. ‘You look lost.’

‘This place is so confusing,’ Yasmine says, rolling her eyes. ‘But, saying that, I get lost in my own cabin.’

‘Yeah, it’s er . . . definitely something for a newcomer. Where you after?’

‘The centre. The Six Diner or something,’ she says, remembering the eatery Sam went into.

‘The Six Bar and Eatery,’ the guy says.

‘That’s the one,’ Yasmine says, clicking her fingers. ‘We’ve got a meeting.’

‘It’s fine. I’m heading there, I’ll show you,’ he says, setting off again as he shuts his system down.

‘Thank you! And sorry. Have we disturbed you?’ Yasmine asks with a wince.

‘Not at all, glad of the distraction. The flow is a mess today: we’ve got cages stacked up all over the place. Amazon are saying they’ve taken in Apple stuff and Nike are pinging demands to Starbucks who took in their new batch of AI runners.’

‘I know, right,’ Yasmine says with a tut. ‘What is going on over here?’

‘It’s the new matrix. We told them. We said phase it in. They said No! It’ll be fine. We said it’s not stress-tested in real time.’

‘They put it straight in?’ Yasmine asks, with no idea what he’s on about.

‘Damn right they did. Old one off. New one on.’

‘Maybe that’s what’s going on then,’ she tells Sun.

‘You got issues too huh?’

‘Hey, we’re in supply. When isn’t there issues?’ Yasmine says as the guy snorts a knowing laugh. ‘Beijing. Customers aren’t getting the right stock.’

‘Chain stores or syndicates?’

‘Syndicates. I heard the chains are getting their stock,’ Yasmine says, thinking back to the chat she had with the supply worker back on the Beijing.

‘That might not be matrix associated,’ the manager says, guiding them into another walkway. ‘If the big cheeses are getting their stock then it sounds like a local supply network problem.’

‘Checked it,’ Yasmine says. ‘Not local.’

‘Damn. Good luck with that then,’ he says, in a way that suggests he’s reached his limit of helpfulness.

‘No, I appreciate it. We’ll do some digging. Hey, so what do people do in the evenings here? I think we’re in for a layover.’

‘There’s bingo on a Wednesday – the guys love it. Not my thing though. I have to get back to holo the kids or my wife gets mad. You know how it is. The rotations are too long, she wants me back home. I said find me a job that pays like this. Anyway, the Six is down there. Good luck with your issue.’

‘That’s kind of you, thanks,’ Yasmine says, coming to a stop as the guy walks off. ‘See?’ she asks Sun a moment later. ‘That’s why we don’t shove our tits in people’s faces. Look how much more we got from the guy, and now we know about this matrix thing and that there’s issues going on over here – those are things we can use, and he didn’t feel threatened because in his mind, it was his choice to help us. And, if we got it right, he’ll have already forgotten he even spoke to us.’

Sun looks for a quip or a smart comment, but reluctantly concedes the sense in what Yasmine just said. ‘You, er, you do this a lot then?’ she asks without trace of spite or sarcasm.

Yasmine thinks to retort with something cutting, but the truth is the buzz is still there. The tingle inside that she used to get when she was stealing, and now she realises it was never the act of the theft, but the work of doing it. Blending in and using her skills to find things out. ‘Yeah,’ she eventually replies. ‘I do. And I’m good at it.’

Sun nods, listening intently. ‘Not big-headed at all then . . . My name is Yasmine, I’m an expert at everything . . .’

‘You are such a bitch!’ Yasmine says, walking off. ‘I’m trying to help you, Sun.’

‘Sorry, grand master. Ooh, there’s Sam,’ she says, pointing through the door to Sam at the back behind many screens. ‘Hey, Sammy!’ she calls out, walking over with a wave as Yasmine tuts and shakes her head for the thousandth time in the last hour. ‘Guess what tonight is?’ Sun asks.

‘What?’ Sam asks, glancing up with that distracted look on his face.

‘Space-bingo! How cool is that?’

‘Okay,’ he says, dropping his head back to his work.

‘Wow. Big response.’

‘He’s working,’ Yasmine says, pressing a finger to her lips. ‘Come on, we’ll grab a coffee.’

‘I think it’s too much,’ Sam says, snapping his head up to Yasmine. ‘It is. It’s too much.’

‘You said that when you did Sven’s adverts and they were fine,’ Yasmine says, moving through his screens to stand next to him. ‘Trust your instincts.’

‘Yeah, but . . . I mean . . . Penny said about the scrutiny and I just charged in and now I’m thinking it’s way too much.’

‘Penny’s scared of her own shadow,’ Yasmine says, draping a hand over his shoulder as she peers at the confusing mess on his screens that means nothing to her. ‘Is it finished?’

He nods, blasting air and shooting her a worried look.

‘Ready to go out?’

He nods again as she bends down to kiss his head. ‘Which button?’

‘That one,’ he says. ‘What the fuck!’ he says when she slaps a hand at it.

‘You can blame me now if it goes wrong. I’ll grab some coffees then you can tell me what a matrix is.’

Sun watches them head for the counter with a thoughtful expression, wondering what Sam was working on and how soothed his nerves were when Yasmine pressed the go button for him, and Yasmine isn’t what she expected either. There’s a hidden depth there, another side to her beneath the swearing and quick temper.

Sun didn’t lie when she said she was a thief, but it was low-end stuff. Shoplifting and petty crime that led to a few run-ins with the police and a few more with the gangs. Then, a few years ago, her brother was killed in a gang fight and Sun saw the heartbreak her mother went through. That’s when they got out of the Hutongs and got the store open. Now it’s all at risk and Sun did what Sun always does and charged off without thinking. Figuring she’d come here, smile at a few guys and find out who was screwing them over. Now she watches the way Yasmine chats to the woman behind the counter, and how Sam smiles and joins in and she figures maybe Yasmine was right. Maybe she does need to shut up and listen for once.

‘Sun?’ Yasmine calls. ‘We can sign up for bingo here. You up for it?’

‘Yeah!’ she blurts, grinning widely at the prospect of having fun. ‘Definitely.’ She heads over to join in, nodding a hello to the woman behind the counter.

‘Three of you?’ the woman asks.

‘Two,’ Sun says. ‘Just me and Sam—’

‘Sun!’

‘I’m joking,’ she says, nudging Yasmine in the side.

‘You’re not funny.’

‘I am funny,’ Sun says, nudging Yasmine again. ‘Say I’m funny.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Fuck you!’

‘Three please,’ Sam says, smiling his nice smile at the woman as he leans past them to pay.

‘Got your hands full there,’ the woman says, nodding at the other two.

‘He wishes,’ Sun says as Yasmine tuts and rolls her eyes for the thousandth and one time in the last hour. Sam just grins, his mind already moved on from the thing he created, that Yasmine just sent out.

34

Wednesday Evening

The Humility

The protest is getting bigger by the hour, with more placards, and that feeling of hate is now almost a tangible thing in the air. Gangs of people are walking the lanes, glaring at anyone who looks even vaguely Elforish. The police are out and doing what they can, but they have to be careful because the protest is still lawful, which means they can’t be seen to be interfering with it. Especially now the movement is being backed by Pierre Jefferson.

As the day drifts towards evening the energy levels drop, and that fightback which seemed so strong and positive this morning starts to look like the weak and paltry effort it really is. Pierre will win the election. Neon City will be moved. The Elfors will be sealed. The end is ordained.

‘Needs a fucking miracle,’ Penny mutters, frowning at how much she’s swearing now that Yasmine is back in her life. She’s glad she is though. Yasmine is a breath of fresh air with all this going on. Penny’s never met anyone so uninterested in politics in her life. Yasmine literally doesn’t give a shit and Penny doesn’t blame her for that. Yasmine has spent her whole life trying to get free of the Elfors, and now she is, so why should she care? Good luck to her. If she has any sense she’ll be in a cabin somewhere on the Ark getting naked and steamy with Sam.

‘You look like how I feel,’ Kristi says, leaning against the wall next to her. ‘What a day. This ship does something to people. Seriously, it does. I drunk-called a guy last night and made a complete idiot of myself.’

‘Eesh,’ Penny says, as three stripped-back series eight wristbands running DosDot Linear come to life.

One under a chair in the concourse on the Ark. One on the Beijing, hidden at the base of the big curved sign. And one here, hidden behind the potted plant, that sets to work with a thunderous clap and stars shooting out of thin air as the drumroll starts and Penny feels her heart quicken at the suddenness of it.

It’s bigger than last time, too. Wider and higher, and the colours of the stars seem brighter. More dazzling. More eye-catching. The drumroll is louder and deeper. There’s more bass. She can feel it inside of her.

Everyone stops what they’re doing. Everyone turns to face it, and Penny almost feels the precursor to a panic attack. Her nerves are too frayed, and she has to fight the urge to holo Sam and tell him to shut it off.

The drumroll builds in pace until the thunderous clap comes with an explosion of digital glitter that fades away to reveal Beaky the beaker standing there with his skinny legs and skinny arms and his huge wide nervous eyes staring about.

Cheers ripple through the three locations, people laughing and making cute noises at the sight of nervous shy Beaky swinging his arms gently back and forth. Then he smiles with red blooms showing in his cheeks and lifts one skinny arm to wave as the laughter rolls out.

Three crowds all watching the same thing as Beaky bends over to pick his own beaker up. A tiny version of himself with arms and legs and a smiling face that grins when Beaky takes a sip, earning more laughs from the people watching. Then he hefts his placard. A sign on a wooden stake, with Rights For All Beakers across it in scrawly handwriting. He looks at his sign and smiles shyly to the people before nodding and setting off.

He reaches a rally behind a crowd facing away that blends into view as Beaky approaches, and the people laugh more on seeing the rally is made up of plates and bowls, dishes and platters. Chairs, tables and all manner of objects. All of them holding placards and facing away as Beaky tries to squeeze through. But he’s too small and nobody will make space. He tries again, poking his tongue out as he attempts to wriggle through a gap, but it’s no good. He tries jumping on the spot to see over the crowd, but that’s no good either. He huffs and puffs and the people laugh at his cuteness.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he says in his high-pitched voice, tugging the arm of a bowl who turns to scowl with an angry face. ‘Can I go through, please?’

‘GO AWAY. NO BEAKERS.’

‘But . . . but . . . I’m an object too,’ Beaky says and tries again, moving to a big chair. ‘Hey! I’m an object too! Let me in.’

‘NO BEAKERS,’ the chair shouts, pushing Beaky away, but he’s determined to get through and taps the back of a plate who spins about with a look of fury.

‘NO BEAKERS!’ the plate roars out, shoving Beaky away, making him fall over and drop his little beaker and sign. ‘NO BEAKERS!’ the chair shouts, turning to glare at Beaky as his tiny beaker runs into his arms for safety. ‘NO BEAKERS!’ the bowl screams.

‘But . . . but . . . I’m an object,’ Beaky tries to say, but the others are too loud and too big, glaring down at him with angry scowling faces. Beaky tries to be brave and valiantly lifts his placard up. ‘Rights for beakers!’ he calls as his little beaker raises his own tiny arms.

‘NO BEAKERS!’ the others all shout as Beaky starts getting jostled. The humour of the scene starts to vanish, the laughter in the crowds fading out at seeing Beaky pushed about amidst the yells and shouts and angry faces.

Penny watches it with her heart still beating too hard. Abdul the same, his eyes glued to the scene. Clara and Colin. Pasha near them. Boris in the café with Janey, Sven and the others, all of them frozen in silence and watching the footage being broadcast live.

On the concourse on the Ark. On the Beijing under the arched sign and in the dance studio where Chi-Chi and her dancers come to a stop, bathed in sweat and breathing hard as they watch the live feed blooming up from a wristband.

Across the fleet thousands of people come to a stop, all of them feeling the same jarring sensation that something they thought would be funny and cute is suddenly becoming harsh and violent.

Beaky starts to panic, but everywhere he turns another object is there, shouting NO BEAKERS and pushing him away. He falls again. Dropping his placard and hugging his own terrified little beaker. ‘Stop it!’ he cries out. ‘I’m an object too!’

It grows darker on the right side of the scene. A cloud forming. Harsh dirty greys smeared within the scene that get closer to Beaky as he tries to scrabble backwards. Fear on his face and his little beaker covers his eyes with his tiny hands.

‘NO MORE EXCUSES.’ A deep, nasty roar from the cloud. A face forming within the smears. ‘SCUM. RATS. TERRORISTS.’ Jean Schreiber’s voice. Jean Schreiber’s face. More clouds blur into being at the sides. More angry faces within the smears.

‘MURDERER!’

‘TERRORIST!

‘SCUM!’

The voices from the attackers who went for Stella. Filmed by Kristi and captured by Sam.

‘SEAL THEM IN,’ Jean roars with his mouth stretching wide. ‘NO MORE EXCUSES.’

The others keep shouting the same insults over and over, getting louder and louder, getting closer and closer. Beaky starts to cry, with tears falling down his cheeks as moms and dads across the fleet grab their children to turn them away. It’s the way Beaky is portrayed. His fear and actions. His tiny tears. The way he tries to protect his little beaker and escape, but he can’t get away. He’s too small and the crowd are too many and too big.

In the Elfors, people gather to watch by the stairwells. In Neon City. In eateries and bars across the fleet. In offices and cabins. Tens of thousands of people watch Jean Schreiber scream at Beaky as the crowd closes in. Beaky tries to run, but the plates and bowls push him back. The violence gets worse, the threat more menacing. The shouts and chants sound as the first kick comes from a bowl striking Beaky in the back and the rest join in, beating on terrified Beaky until he falls again with his tiny beaker tumbling from his arms to an awful gasp sounding out from the crowds watching.

Beaky cries out and tries reaching for his little friend, but his little beaker gets kicked away as the crowd makes noises, sickened by what they are seeing, and another, larger cloud forms above all the others. Darker. Deeper. Wider. A bearded face blending into view. The voice old, gruff and deep.

‘THEY WILL BE CONTROLLED. FINAL RESOLUTION.’

Pierre Jefferson decreeing his orders as the backdrop changes to old black-and-white footage from Earth. The 1930s. Nazi Germany. Swastikas fluttering in the wind and hanging from buildings. Troopers marching, snapping out salutes. Mass hysteria in the crowds, and Adolf Hitler behind a podium, screaming out with his face twisting in passion.

‘FINAL RESOLUTION,’ Pierre roars, as he blends with an image of Hitler. The swastikas flutter and the soldiers march. Flashes of concentration camps start showing within the scene. Thin men and women with shaved heads, wearing striped clothes. More being forced into train carriages at gunpoint while faces within the grey clouds scream their abuse and the bowls and plates kick down at Beaky.

Kristi stares at it in horror. It was so quick, too. The way the scene went from funny and sweet to so very dark and violent – but it’s not over, and another drumbeat starts. Faint at first but growing louder and getting closer, with a roar of noise coming from the other side of the scene. A glowing light getting brighter, pushing through the dark smears of grey.

Something powerful. Something strong, and Beaky is no longer looking at Pierre or Jean but staring away to the other side. Seeing something else, and the flashing images soon start coming. One after the other, strobing fast with snatched glimpses of US warplanes in the sky. Whole swathes of them so distinct with their bold stars on their wings. Images of US and allied warships steaming through oceans, all of them aiming towards Beaky. Images of US and allied soldiers charging into battle. Images of the Stars and Stripes flag waving proudly. Images of old politicians. Roosevelt and Churchill looking defiant.

There’s something else too as different images start blending into the scene. Images filmed by Kristi Carter of Abdul running into the fight by this very stairwell. Going toe-to-toe with Dmitri and his crew. Punching out and taking hits. Clara, Colin and his guys with him, Yasmine and Sam seen in the backdrop. Zhang, too. Then the scene changes to the point where Kristi was about to get hurt as Abdul punches her attacker away, and more than a few people flinch at the spray of blood hitting Kristi’s face.

A swift change to footage of Clara racing up the stairwell and into the Finance offices, Abdul right behind her as Finance workers spill out, crying and screaming.

It changes again to Abdul and Helga walking from the elevator into the Level 37 guard station, their faces etched with determination as missiles fly past them.

Faiza in the background. Abdul and Helga issuing orders. The two of them side by side, turning to face the entrance. Going out alone. Stepping into danger.

It’s like something from a holo movie and the reference is clear. It’s good versus evil. Two sides. One of hate and one of hope, where Abdul leads from the front, fighting with his team and, with a beautiful touch, the scene once more blends to show Abdul and his team walking in dramatic slow-motion under the ferocious downpouring of the sprinklers in the Finance offices. All of them drenched. All of them showing determination and facing forward as the images on the other side start changing to show the Nazi war machine crumbling. Broken houses and broken cities. Broken tanks and broken people. Swastika flags burning and falling. GIs walking through European streets. People cheering them on. New York. VE day. The sailor kissing the nurse.

Abdul’s voice booms out. Defiant and strong. ‘I will protect my people . . . no matter what it takes.’

People watching all over the fleet feel their hearts quicken, the adrenalin coursing through their bodies, because the good guys are coming. Beaky just has to hold on as he takes the kicks and hits. His hurt face filling with hope as he stares past the hate. Past the rage, into the light coming closer. The drumming gets louder and he cries out as Abdul and his team run into view. The footage captured when they ran to help Stella, and the bad plates and bowls scatter and start running away as cheers rip through the thousands of people watching it. The sight of Colin, Boris and Pasha charging in with voltage sticks out, forming a line behind Beaky, who looks about in fear for his little beaker and spots him lying still. He crawls over with fear and worry showing on his face as he scoops his little inert beaker up. The limp body draped in his arms and Beaky starts weeping hard as hands go to mouths and eyes fill with tears, because his tiny beaker is dead. It’s too much. Too harsh. People turn away, unable to watch as a weak cough sounds out, making them snap back to see the tiny beaker coughing again as he opens his eyes and smiles up at Beaky and the biggest cheer roars out. Hardened crews on the Ark shouting with moisture glinting in their eyes. People working in kitchens and on nuclear engines. Spacewalkers getting ready to go out. Chi-Chi and her dancers. Stackers. Lifters. Carriers. AI specialists and everyone in between as Clara’s deep voice comes loud and clear.

‘You don’t fight hate with hate, sugar. Y’all just need to talk this out.’

And the final image is of Beaky popping an iconic US soldier’s helmet on his head. Another tiny one for his tiny beaker, and they scrabble up to run after Abdul on their tiny legs as that resounding cheer keeps going.

On the Ark. On the Beijing. In the Elfors. In Neon City, and here, on the Humility where the scene ends with a clap of thunder and a flash of light as the stars come back, bright and dazzling before fading out to reveal the words hanging in the air.

Don’t give in to hate: Amnesty for the Elfors

‘Well, shit,’ Clara says, wiping tears from her eyes as she turns to look at Penny. ‘I told you to let Pretty Boy loose.’

It’s an astonishing thing and the effect is palpable, super-charging the air as the cameras turn to face Jean and Abdul. Jean’s face betrays his rage as he starts shouting at reporters, while Abdul stands silent and still. His head high, his team behind him. The distinction now set and made. The lines clear.

It’s the few opposing the many, the good guys facing the bad. The perception of it and the translation of the ideology makes some of the protesters grow quieter as they look about uncomfortably. Trudy Marlowe is one of them, small and fragile alongside this monstrous thing she made happen, and she quietly slips away with uncertainty etched on her face.

The ten thousand bots set to work, flooding in to make it viral, but in all honesty they don’t need to. The attention gained is staggering as the clip rushes through the net and within minutes it’s rising through the charts, boosted not just by the people who loved it, but by those who hated it. Those with children soon express outrage at the display of violence in such public places. They too flood online, sharing the clip along with those that loved it.

* * *

On the Humility, Penny smiles at the sudden change in energy, seeing the way the perception has shifted already.

‘Penny!’ Kristi calls, rushing over. ‘You owe me an interview with Pretty Boy.’

‘Kristi. I am going for a beer, so unless you want to come into Neon and get blind stinking drunk with me, leave it until tomorrow.’

Kristi thinks for a split second, weighing the choices of eating no-fat crap and downing a bottle of wine on her own before no doubt trying to drunk-call Zhang again against going into Neon with Penny. ‘Was that a genuine invite?’ she asks. ‘And is that stall still there? The sticky place.’

‘Sticky Dicky’s? Yeah, of course,’ Penny says with a laugh. ‘Best grilled rat on the ship, just don’t eat the rice. Come down with us. But no interviewing. We’re off duty. Deal?’

‘You know what? That I can do. But say, can I go in the elevator? My damn feet are killing me.’

35

Wednesday Evening

The Beijing

Zhang remembers the journey from his cabin to see Helga with a sense of dread in his gut that she was going to kill him.

It’s like that now, only worse. It’s like he’s trapped in a nightmare where every step brings him closer to the end, but he can’t do anything about it. He can’t run or fight. He tried that, and Po just shot him again.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Po says, glancing across as they stop outside the door on the plush upper levels of the Beijing. ‘Pick your face up. You promised me, Zhang. We’ve got a deal. Remember.’

‘Fine,’ he says, offering a forced smile.

‘Good. Be nice and I’ll let you titfuck me later.’

‘Po!’

‘Zhang! Po!’ his mom says as the door swishes open to Po smiling politely and Zhang scowling in shock. ‘Zhang, what’s that look for? Come, enter,’ she says like she’s ordering a minion into her office.

‘Chief Woo, thank you for this honour,’ Po says gracefully, stepping inside.

‘We’re off duty, Po. Mrs Woo will suffice.’

‘Mrs Woo, of course.’

‘And Zhang. You look better. See, that’s what a good woman does for you,’ his mom says as Zhang crosses the threshold into the lair of the beast, where the dark hungry creatures do dwell. New clothes bought from a store because his were covered in the remains of his hot roll and coffee after Po shot him. He also showered and shaved in the washroom facilities of a local gym. Then got dragged to the barbers for a haircut, all before he was led into the stores so they could buy his nephew a gift.

Now he stands awkwardly in a smart, but very tight, black shirt. He said he wanted something loose to hide his Taser. Po said his Taser would go in her bag until after the party, as per the deal, and anyway it shows your muscles off. Zhang conceded in the end, but then he didn’t really have a choice.

‘Come through,’ his mom says. ‘Everyone is here.’

Zhang closes his eyes, wishing he was anywhere else.

‘You’ll be fine. Just let me do the talking, okay?’ Po whispers softly as they head after his mom from the entrance hallway into the big open plan room within the plush suite. ‘Hi, everyone! Guess who I have with me . . .’

* * *

‘Fuck!’ Zhang yelled out, his shirt covered in roll and coffee from his body spasming as a result of being Tasered by Po as she stormed into the alley he was hiding in after running away from her.

‘Why did you run from me?’

‘I didn’t see you!’

‘You’re such a liar. I should shoot you for lying.’

‘I should shoot you for stalking me,’ Zhang said, while ignoring the fact that he was stalking someone else.

‘Should be flattered. Not many old men get chased by young women. And I called you last night!’

‘It’s on silent,’ he replied, holding his wrist up.

‘Right. Whatever,’ she said, holstering her pistol underneath her shirt tails. She was clearly off duty in a peach and pale-green outfit, with a faint swirl of digital make-up on her right cheek. ‘Anyway, now that I’ve found you . . .’

‘What does that mean? Found me.’

‘I was looking for you. We need to get your nephew some gifts, remember? Oh, and my family are coming to the dinner tonight too because your mom told my mom we’re dating and we need to begin our courtship so we can get married.’

‘What the fuck?!’ Zhang said, striding into the densely packed walkways, while shaking his head at such a wild notion.

‘Obviously not straight away. We can date first, and then announce our engagement and—’

‘Po! Stop. We’re not doing it. It’s not happening.’ He turned on her, nodding to enforce his point. ‘End of. I’m busy. Goodbye.’ He walked away, then swore in frustration when she ran to catch him up again. ‘Seriously. I’m working. Go away.’

‘Doing what?’

He cursed with frustration, knowing he’d lost Yasmine and was rapidly losing time to pick her trail up again. ‘Listen, I told you. I’m just checking some things out.’

‘Which breaches regs.’

‘Fine,’ he said, walking off.

‘I’ll tell your mom.’

‘What the fuck?! Who says that? We’re not kids!’

‘No, but you’re a cop from another vessel on board our ship and I have to report it if you’re working here.’

He stopped to draw air, lamenting the loss of his hot roll and coffee. Wound up and in pain from the waitress clumping his head with the pan and punching himself in the nose. ‘Okay. I’m just here for pleasure. No work.’

‘Great! Then we can hang out.’

‘No!’ He charged into an eatery, with Po hot on his heels. ‘Coffee and a roll,’ he ordered at the counter.

‘Two please,’ Po added.

‘One.’

‘Two.’

‘Fuck me,’ Zhang muttered as the woman behind the counter rolled her eyes.

‘It’s stress,’ Po said, leaning in to nod at the woman. ‘We’re getting married.’

‘Ah,’ the woman said.

‘We’re not getting married,’ Zhang said.

‘Carry on like that and we won’t be,’ Po said as the woman gave Zhang the stink-eye.

‘What the . . . that doesn’t . . . we’re not even . . .’

‘Men,’ the woman said, passing the coffees and rolls over to Po. ‘You should be grateful,’ she added, glaring at Zhang.

‘She’s very pretty,’ another Chinese woman told Zhang. ‘And you’re no spring chicken.’

‘I’m not old!’ Zhang snapped, storming off.

‘I’ll pay for these then, dear,’ Po called, to a sharp intake of breath from many people as Zhang grunted, turned back and scanned his band to pay. ‘He’s a softy really,’ Po whispered. ‘Hold on, honey! I’ve got our food,’ she called, running after Zhang. ‘Are we eating here?’

‘I am not eating here,’ he said, plucking his coffee and roll from her hands. ‘You, however, can do what you want.’

‘Cool. I’ll follow you, then.’

He walked off, then swore again, knowing she was right behind him. ‘Po, please. This is not a good time.’

‘Why?’

What could he say? That he was trying to conduct surveillance on a woman who stole the code for a new planet, until Dmitri comes for her so he can exact revenge for the murder of a woman he was fucking in order to make her blackmail another guy who was now also dead? ‘I’m just busy.’

‘Busy doing what? Your mom told me to keep you out of trouble.’

‘Stop saying my mom.’

‘Okay. Chief Woo told me to keep you out of trouble. Has your nose been bleeding?’

‘Yes. No. Whatever. Spider. It was on my face and—’

‘Boom,’ she said with a wink. ‘You’re afraid of spiders and I’m not. I’ll get rid of them from our cabin.’

‘We don’t have a cabin! We’ll never have a cabin. Not ever, because we’re never getting married.’

‘Am I not attractive?’

‘What?! I don’t know you. You’re twenty-one and . . . and I can’t live here! It’s just insane. Literally insane.’

She looked at him for a second as he thought maybe he got through to her. ‘Am I not attractive then?’

‘Fuck me. Yes. Yes, you are. You’re very attractive. But it’s not going to happen. Don’t do what my mom tells you, Po. Live your own life.’

‘Don’t patronise me,’ she snapped back. ‘I can’t stand that.’

‘No? What’s up, young lady? Don’t like an older man talking down to you? Listen, when you’re a grown-up, sometimes you have to—’

‘I will fucking shoot you right here. Seriously, keep going.’

‘Then do us both a favour and leave me the fuck alone.’

‘No.’

‘Po!’ He tried to sound firm and angry but just groaned the words out as he slumped down at a table and looked at his hot roll and coffee with a sudden loss of appetite. ‘What is this?’

‘It’s a hot roll and coffee . . . Duh.’

‘Us. This. What is it? What’s going on?’

‘Finally! He thinks to ask. Well done, detective. Your mother holds the key to my career progression and will put me on the fast-track promotion scheme if I keep her happy. Which means, and I quote, making sure Zhang doesn’t do anything stupid. Which is why I’m armed. To shoot you if you do anything stupid. Oh, and, you know, she also wants us to get married and have babies. Which I will do,’ she added quickly, cutting his protests off. ‘Because A, I am very career minded, and B, you’re really handsome for an older man.’

‘I’m not old!’

‘Shush. And C, I do actually want to have children one day, and you come from an amazing family with good genes. And D, my family will be super pleased I’m marrying someone from the Woo family. Therefore, and in conclusion, everyone is happy. Namely your mother, my family and me.’

‘Do I get a say in this?’

‘Don’t be stupid. Do you think we’d leave important things like marriage selection to men? You’d all marry hookers. Speaking of which, no more hookers.’

‘What?!’

‘If you want sex, Zhang,’ she said, holding her hands out, ‘I’m twenty-one and hot. I mean . . . duh. We don’t even have to wait until we’re married. Well, no, we do, but I’ll totally give you a hand job. Or a blow job if you’re really nice and don’t come in my mouth without warning me.’

‘What the fuck?!’

‘Hey, play your cards right,’ she said with a wink, pushing the invisible penis back into her mouth. ‘Splashy splashy yum yum. Ooh, actually, I’ve got quite big boobs. You could totally get your penis between them.’

‘Po!’

‘I know. Hot, right? They’re like super perky with just the right areola to nipple ratio. You okay? You’ve gone really red. Anyway, so, in conclusion, you can pretty much have sex with my hand, mouth and or boobs but no penetration until we’re married. Unless, you know, things get really steamy and it ends up slipping in. But I’m not on birth control, so pull it out before the splashy splashy because I want to make squad leader before we have a baby. Where are you going? Hey, I’m just setting some ground rules here, mister. God, if it means that much to you, I can take birth control. And you have to admit our babies would be beautiful,’ she added, as he spun back to yell again, but stopped because someone else had said that same thing. Our babies would be so beautiful. I do believe I am falling for you, Mr Woo.

Mahatma’s voice in his head. Mahatma’s image in his mind. Her torn and butchered body in her cabin and Zhang knew, right there, that he would never have that life because his job was to kill people for Helga Sveinsson, and his sole task right now was to kill Dmitri so he could exact revenge for Mahatma. There was nothing beyond that. No future. No dream life. No growing old. No babies. No marriage. No anything. He moved in close to glare at Po with that dark brooding energy pouring from his very core. An intensity within him that rendered her silent, as she swallowed and stared up into his hard eyes. ‘Listen to me. I am not a good man. I am rotten to the fucking core. Find someone else and stay the fuck away from me. Do you understand?’

She stayed silent for a moment, seemingly trapped within his gaze. ‘Honestly. I’m so wet right now.’

‘Po!’

‘What?! I’d bang you right here if I could. And that growly voice! Urgh. I’m dripping.’

‘That’s disgusting . . . Jesus! What are you doing?’ he asked when she shoved a hand into her trousers.

‘I am. I’m dripping. Look . . .’ she said, pulling her hand back out.

‘Oh my god! No! Just . . . wipe your fingers. Don’t smell it!’

‘Wait! Okay, okay. Calm down, old man. Give yourself a heart attack. Just stop for a moment. Zhang, stop!’

‘What?’

‘Smell my fingers.’

‘What the! Urgh, no! Why would you? What is wrong with you?’ he shouted, much to the shock of several people passing by.

‘It’s pheromones. It’s alluring. Nothing to see here, people. We’re working a case,’ Po called out, flashing her holo police badge.

‘Put that fucking thing away. Jesus. Are you mad? I can’t talk to you. I’m going.’ He walked off with that need clawing away inside of him. The smell of her fingers. The overt sexuality and talking about hand jobs and blow jobs. But she’s too young and she’s a cop and she works for his mother. It can’t happen. It won’t happen. ‘Po. I’m not playing. Please go away.’

‘Okay, okay,’ she said, finally seeming to detect something in his manner, and he stopped to look at her. Waiting for her to continue. ‘Zhang, if I don’t do this your mom will not put me forward for accelerated promotion and – just listen! Give me today, okay? We’ll get the gifts, do the dinner and then—’

‘Po, I can’t.’

‘Then I’ll lose my career and you’ll get flagged up to every cop on this ship to be stopped and questioned on sight.’

‘Don’t threaten me, Po.’

‘That’s what your mom said, Zhang. Not me. You haven’t been back in years and then you’re in a fight with Bohai. She thinks you’re doing something with the gangs.’

Zhang screwed his face up in frustration, knowing what a hard-faced bitch his mom is, and how she would question Po relentlessly and refuse to accept anything less than exactly what she ordered the constable to do. Which is how she raised her children. Like a chief with a squad. And there was no way he could outwit the cops and Leo’s men while keeping surveillance on Yasmine.

‘Please,’ Po said, holding her hand out.

‘I’m not holding your hand, Po.’

‘I want your sidearm, dickhead. You’ll get it back after the dinner. I just need you to play along and make our families think it’s all good, then you can go back to the Humility and I’ll say we decided it couldn’t work. Whatever, but everyone saves face.’

* * *

Zhang didn’t want to, but what else could he do? And now here he is, trying to smile at a room full of people, all turning to stare at him.

His squad leader sister and her captain husband and their baby. His esteemed council member father looking as unimpressed as ever. Just the sight of him makes Zhang want to leave. His mom, somehow making an evening dress look like a cop’s uniform. Po’s family too. Her mom and dad smiling as they get to their feet, and Po’s sister. Who is also very attractive, which really doesn’t help matters, and Po’s mom is quite nice too. Damn, good genes in that family, that’s for sure. And there, finishing the wonderful bunch off, is his sanctimonious prick of a brother. Captain Lenny Woo.

‘Mr Lee, Mrs Lee, may I introduce my son, Zhang Woo,’ his mom says formally.

‘Honour to meet you, Captain,’ Zhang says, dipping his head to Po’s father.

‘Detective. An honour. This is my wife, Mary. She is a criminal lawyer, but don’t hold that against her.’

Polite laughs. Zhang shakes her hand and dips his head. Po’s sister next. Less formal and she moves in to give him a hug.

His own sister comes in after. Introducing her husband. Captain Prick or whatever. Short hair. Straight-backed. Unmarked knuckles from having never been in a fight in his life.

‘Baby bro!’ Lenny says, coming in with a few shadow boxing moves to Zhang’s midsection before clasping him in an overly manly hug with many back slaps. ‘You’ve lost weight, brother. You’re so thin.’

‘I said he was thin,’ his mom announces, as though it’s a competition.

‘He does look thin,’ his squad leader sister says. ‘Zhang, you look too thin.’

‘Are you eating okay?’ Captain Prick asks.

‘Is he ill?’ Captain Po’s Dad asks.

‘He looks good to me,’ Po’s hot sister says.

‘He’s actually incredibly fit,’ Po says proudly. ‘And his abs? Wow,’ she adds with a roll of the eyes which earns many patronising smiles. ‘He’s not bad for an oldie, that’s for sure.’

‘Haha! My baby bro is getting old. How about that,’ Lenny says, shadow boxing his brother again.

‘Zhang, shouldn’t you introduce your family?’ his mom suggests, in the manner of issuing a lawful order.

‘Sure. That’s my family,’ he says, pointing at them.

Silence. And an awkward one too, until Po’s hot sister and her lawyer mom burst out laughing, which sets Po off as everyone else smiles as though they also get it, which they don’t, because they’re all humourless pricks.

‘Detective humour,’ Lenny says, waving at them all as though he alone would know these things. ‘Pretty dark sometimes.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Captain Prick says.

‘One must laugh,’ Captain Po’s Dad says, while not laughing.

‘But you were all here before us,’ Zhang says. ‘So the introductions wouldn’t be—’

‘Don’t be smart,’ his dad mutters.

‘Sorry, sir,’ Zhang says, falling instantly silent. They don’t greet each other. They don’t even look at each other and the silence carries on for a good few seconds.

‘Anyway, this is your nephew, Zhang,’ his squad leader sister says, presenting a little baby.

‘Is he a captain too?’

‘Zhang!’ his dad snaps, as Po’s hot sister and her lawyer mom snort laughs again while Po tries not to.

‘He’s very baby-like and er . . . small. Are they always that wrinkly?’

‘He’s teasing you,’ Po says, swatting Zhang’s arm as his sister looks confused. ‘He’s a gorgeous baby. Oh, and Zhang, the gift?’

‘I sold it to buy drugs.’

‘Zhang! Stop winding your father up,’ his mom snaps, while trying to smile at Po’s family.

‘Not for me. I meant to plant on criminals. Hey, we’re all cops right?’

‘HAHA! Got to laugh, hey baby bro,’ Lenny says, laughing loudly while winking at Po’s hot sister.

‘Anyway, yeah. I have a gift,’ Zhang says, pulling a small wrapped packet from his pocket. ‘I’ve no idea what it is. Po chose it.’

‘Stop it,’ Po says, playing her role as the dutiful girlfriend. ‘He does know what it is. He even picked it out.’

‘Can I claim it back on expenses though?’

‘Zhang!’ his mom snaps.

‘Can you claim baby gifts back on expenses?’ Captain Prick asks Captain Po’s Dad who both look to Po’s lawyer mom for an answer.

‘No,’ she says simply.

‘Oh, Zhang. That’s lovely,’ his squad leader sister says, pulling the wrapper off to see a traditional Chinese red envelope.

‘Zhang wanted to be traditional,’ Po says. ‘And there’s a pre-loaded chip inside. We wouldn’t give one without money.’

‘That’s so kind,’ his squad leader sister says, pulling the chip out to read the amount. ‘Zhang!’

‘It’s fine,’ Zhang says quickly, hoping she won’t say how much it is.

‘Eight hundred and eighty-eight credits! Zhang, that’s too much,’ his sister says, as Po casts a look at Zhang. She didn’t see him load it up and figured it would be the standard eighty-eight now used in Chinese society in the fleet.

‘Shit, did I put an extra eight on it,’ Zhang says. ‘It’s fine. Put it in a saving account for when it’s older.’

‘He,’ Po whispers.

‘He,’ Zhang adds quickly. ‘The baby. The wrinkly thing.’

‘You’ve done a custom message too,’ his squad leader sister says, glancing back at the characters on the red envelope.

‘What does it say?’ Captain Prick asks, leaning in to see. ‘Be honourable in all that you do, and be good, always be good.’

‘Wise words,’ Captain Po’s Dad says with a firm nod.

‘Beautiful words,’ Po says, casting another look at Zhang. ‘I didn’t see you do that.’

‘I stole it from someone else.’

‘Don’t ruin it with a stupid comment,’ she says, hitting his arm again.

‘That’s Zhang’s way unfortunately,’ his father says. ‘And Lenny did eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight credits, but then he is a captain. Sit. We should eat.’

Po frowns gently, sensing the anxiety and tension in Zhang. ‘Is there a seating order?’ she asks.

‘Yeah mine’s outside probably,’ Zhang quips, unable to stop himself.

‘You’re on that side next to each other,’ his mom says, glaring at Zhang. ‘And Zhang, take it easy on the wine. You know how you get.’

‘How does he get?’ Po’s hot sister asks.

‘Drunk, hopefully,’ Zhang says.

‘HAHA! Detective humour,’ Lenny says, reaching over the table to manfully smack his brother’s shoulder. ‘My squad guys are like it all the time. On the Ark. Where I’m a captain. In charge of squads . . . on the Ark.’

‘Where do you work again?’ Zhang asks.

‘On the Ark. I’m a Captain.’

‘Hands up all the captains,’ Zhang says as Captain Prick and Captain Po’s Dad and Captain Brother stick their hands up, thinking it to be an actual request. ‘Are you a captain?’ he asks Po’s hot sister.

‘I’m not. I’m studying to be a lawyer,’ she replies with a grin. ‘Do you think you’ll ever be a captain?’

‘God, no. I couldn’t be captain of a ping pong team. My plan is to get Po promoted and live off her salary.’

‘Good plan,’ Po’s hot sister says.

‘That’s not a good plan at all,’ Zhang’s dad snaps.

‘I think that was Zhang’s attempt at humour,’ his mom explains.

‘And if he had less humour maybe he wouldn’t still be a squad detective on the Humility. Why are you still there?’

‘I’m not. I’m here.’

‘Don’t be flippant.’

‘Wine?’ Zhang’s mom asks, smiling around the table. ‘Po, serve the wine, please.’

‘Yes, Chief,’ Po says, rising quickly to her feet as Zhang frowns, cocks his head over and stands up to take the bottle from Po.

‘I asked Constable Po to do it.’

‘She’s not your constable tonight, she’s my date.’ An edge to Zhang’s voice. The intensity flashing, the dark energy showing. ‘Mrs Lee, may I serve you some wine?’

‘Thank you,’ she says, giving Zhang a strange look.

‘How are things on the Humility, anyway?’ his squad leader sister asks.

‘Double homicide and robbery,’ his mom replies. ‘Perps ran into the Elfors. Police can’t detain them. Damn mess. You need Fed support, Zhang. We said that. Ask your brother. Lenny’s a fed on the Ark,’ she tells Po’s family.

‘Damned proud of him,’ Zhang’s dad snaps.

‘Hey, just doing my part,’ Lenny says. ‘But bro, you need back-up, you say the word.’

‘He has to speak to Jorgey,’ his mom says. ‘Zhang can’t ask for assistance. He has to follow protocol. Zhang, you can’t just ask your brother.’

‘He’s only a squad detective,’ Zhang’s dad says. ‘Detectives can’t ask for Fed assistance, and he’s not even a squad leader. His sister is a squad leader and she’s had a baby.’

‘Well. I’m sure being a detective on the Humility is a highly rewarding career,’ Po’s mom says.

‘Embarrassing is what it is,’ Zhang’s dad mutters.

‘Zhang works really hard,’ Po says as Zhang wilts inside at her trying to defend him. ‘Zhang even told me he’s the only cop who can go into Neon City.’

‘You’ve been into Neon City?’ Zhang’s sister asks in surprise to the murmurs rolling around the table.

‘With support, right?’ Lenny asks. ‘What was it? Tactical strike force? In and out action?’

‘In and out mainly,’ Zhang says, thinking of Carla Big Lips.

‘Knew it,’ Lenny says, clicking his fingers over the table at Zhang. ‘Good man though. Going in like that. Good man.’

‘Is that where you got all the bruises from?’ Po’s sister asks, nodding at his face and still bruised knuckles.

‘Er, some of them,’ Zhang says.

‘Zhang was mugged in New Beijing,’ Po says.

‘Good god,’ Mrs Lee says. ‘Were you badly hurt?’

‘Zhang wasn’t, but you should have seen the other guys,’ Po says. ‘Witnesses said he took three of them on and won. And they were armed too. They said he was amazing.’

‘We don’t brag about violence at the dinner table, Constable,’ Chief Woo says sternly.

‘Of course not. My apologies,’ Po says.

‘I think my daughter was explaining how Zhang sustained his injuries,’ Mrs Lee says.

‘Chief Woo is right,’ Captain Po’s Dad says quickly. ‘Talk of violence is unbecoming for officers of rank.’

‘I get you, bro,’ Lenny says, winking at Zhang. ‘Gets rough on the Ark sometimes. Let me tell you that. Had some scrapes myself. Yes, sir. And my guys, that’s my squad, I’m a captain now, but my guys, they can roll with the best,’ he adds, to proud smiles from his mom and dad, and equally knowing nods from Captain Prick and Captain Po’s Dad.

‘We should eat,’ Zhang’s mom says. She swipes her interface as a door swishes back, with caterers rushing in carrying trays laden with platters of sumptuous food. ‘Nothing fancy. We’re not fancy people. Plain food always suited us.’

Freshly grilled Beijing Rat drizzled with glaze served on synth tofu rice – the expensive stuff too, not the sticky crap Zhang sometimes eats from Sticky Dicky’s hot food stall on the strip. Synth veg dyed with natural colourants to appear wholesome and organic. Freshly baked mini rolls alongside spicy dumplings and synth crackers laid as sides, all bringing forth a wonderful smell that permeates the room as Zhang’s cynical view of his family spikes even higher. This food is a month’s salary for him and would be beyond even that of a Captain. Even the wine is the high-end expensive stuff. This isn’t a dinner party. This is a display of power and wealth to show the Lee family what their daughter can have if they take on their wayward, low-achieving son. It works too, as Captain Po’s Dad’s eyes light up.

‘Po, help the caterers make room on the table please,’ his mom orders, making Zhang tense inside as Po rushes to do as bidden. He rises to help her, clearing space as she shoots him a look to sit down. ‘It’s fine. I can do it,’ she whispers as they both try to move a stack of bowls. ‘Sit down.’

‘You sit down,’ he says as they play tug. ‘What are you going to do? Taser me?’

‘No, but you can forget the titfuck later.’

‘Stop saying titfuck!’

‘Zhang!’ his mother snaps as his words carry out into a sudden silence.

Po drops her head, moving the bowls in the awkward silence as Zhang lowers into his seat.

‘It’s a private joke,’ he adds a few seconds later. ‘Something from a movie we saw . . . the, er . . . the adventures of the mighty titfuck?’

‘Enough!’ his father says angrily, as Po’s hot sister and lawyer mom stifle their laughs. ‘Disgusting language. You should never have gone to the Humility. He needs re-training in diversity and sensitivity when he gets to the Ark. Make sure it happens,’ he orders Lenny.

‘Father,’ his mom says with a gentle tut. ‘Lenny hasn’t told Zhang about the position yet. Zhang, your brother has an opening for a squad detective on his team. Lenny, tell Zhang.’

‘We’ve got an opening for a squad detective on my team,’ Lenny says.

‘Yeah? Where’s that?’ Zhang asks.

‘On the Ark.’

‘The Ark? Is that where you work?’

‘Yes. I’m a captain.’

‘Lenny’s the youngest captain on the Ark,’ his mom tells the Lee family.

‘Hands up all the captains,’ Zhang says as the captains lift their hands.

‘Scored highest in his exams,’ his father says.

‘Zhang’s sister also scored highest in her exams,’ his mom tells the Lee family. ‘She’s going to be a captain too, but we think Lenny has the makings of a chief.’

‘Carry the family tradition,’ his father says. ‘I was chief. His mother is chief. Lenny should be chief. Family tradition.’

‘Isn’t that nepotism?’ Zhang asks, which is pretty much the same as taking a shit on the table.

‘It’s no such thing!’ his father snaps.

‘Lenny is highly qualified,’ his mother says.

‘Bro, you need that training,’ Lenny says, giving his brother a look.

‘Zhang,’ his squad leader sister says with a tut.

‘I think Captain Lenny would make a wonderful Chief,’ Captain Po’s Dad says as Captain Prick murmurs agreeably and the caterers finally disappear after ramming the table full of enough food to feed the Elfors.

A moment’s worth of pause then follows as Zhang’s father wields his power with great aplomb by perusing all of the dishes with painstaking slowness, knowing that nobody else will dare reach for the food before him. He finally selects a roll between his chopsticks and sits back down.

‘Please, eat. No need to wait for me,’ he says, and Zhang sags inwardly at the politeness war breaking out with many captains all trying to give way to each other at the same time.

‘Let me serve you,’ Po whispers, pinching Zhang’s leg under the table when he tuts. ‘It’s etiquette. Let me serve you. Don’t fuck this up for me.’

‘Okay, fine.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Something poisonous.’

She rolls her eyes and offers a smile before joining the ongoing politeness war. Leaning over in her shimmering red evening dress inlaid with a subtly changing pattern and Zhang can’t help but take in the way it clings to her frame, showing a section of her upper back and down to her narrow waist, then flaring out over her hips, and the way her calf muscles flex as she leans in and moves. The glow of her skin. The smoothness and shape of her. The scent of her perfume hanging in the air. She seems to detect his gaze and looks back with a wry smile as he clears his throat and shifts in his seat, tuning back into the conversation.

‘. . . and actually,’ Captain Prick says, ‘Zhang may benefit as I’m creating a new training package specifically aimed at developing sensitivity and diversity awareness within the working ranks. We’re re-branding it to the Compassionate Understanding and Nurturing Theory.’

‘Cunt,’ Zhang says in English.

‘Zhang!’ his father shouts, slamming his chopsticks down.

‘What is wrong with you?’ his squad leader sister says, covering the baby’s ears.

‘It spells cunt in English,’ Zhang says while capturing a roll within his chopsticks.

‘I didn’t realise it spelled cunt,’ Captain Prick says. ‘Does it spell cunt? Compassionate Understanding and Nurturing Theory . . .’

‘That spells cunt,’ Lenny points out.

‘Definitely cunt,’ Captain Po’s Dad says. ‘Perhaps you should change it.’

‘Stop saying cunt!’ his father shouts.

‘Developing Institutional Collaborative Knowledge,’ Zhang suggests, holding his mini roll up as Po snorts a laugh, then coughs to hide it.

‘Good man,’ Lenny says, clicking his fingers over the table at Zhang. ‘That’s a good one,’ he tells Captain Prick.

‘Very good suggestion,’ Captain Po’s Dad decrees.

‘Thank you, and perhaps you could have it under an umbrella heading of Training In Teams Forms Unilateral Cohesive Know-how,’ Zhang says, earning a look from Po as her mom and sister turn away somewhat red-faced.

‘Boom. My baby bro is on fire,’ Lenny says, reaching over to smack Zhang’s shoulder. ‘The grey matter is still there, Zhangy,’ he adds, ruffling Zhang’s hair as Zhang resists the urge to snap his brother’s wrist.

‘Well,’ his father says, clearly irritated at Zhang’s suggestion. ‘Whatever you call it. Make sure Zhang does it first. He’s been on that ship too long. The Elfors is a disgrace. Whatever is Jorgey thinking? At least Pierre is standing for re-election. That’s what that ship needs. Strong leadership.’

‘Pierre Jefferson has been in charge for a long time though,’ Mrs Lee points out. ‘Is it not his policies that have created the issues?’

‘I agree with Council Member Woo,’ Captain Po’s Dad says, shooting his wife down for speaking out. ‘Mr Woo is very skilled in these matters.’

‘Thank you, Mr Lee,’ Zhang’s mom says. ‘And of course, when our families are united, I would love to discuss the reshuffling of our senior team. We’ll be looking for a new head of investigations.’

Jesus. She doesn’t even try to hide it, and Zhang feels the ripple of energy spread across the table as Lenny claps Po’s dad on the back. ‘Welcome to the family!’

‘They’re not married yet,’ Chief Woo says, trying to make it sound like a joke, but the implication is clear.

‘We’ve only just began courtship,’ Po says politely, glancing at Zhang as he realises the pressure she must be under to marry into a good family.

‘But you are a good match,’ Zhang’s father says. ‘The Lee family are very respected, Constable.’

‘Of course, sir,’ Po says, dipping her head.

‘And your own family are most highly honoured, sir,’ Mr Lee says, dipping his own head in a way that Zhang doesn’t like, and a great sadness forms inside that Po’s father is having to show such subservience. Not for his own career, but for that of his daughter.

‘You’ll have your hands full with him, that’s for sure,’ Zhang’s father says, waggling chopsticks at Zhang while he talks at Po. ‘Got a mind of his own and refuses to listen to anyone.’

‘Zhang is very stubborn,’ his mom adds. ‘Reckless, too.’

‘He needs a strong woman,’ Zhang’s sister tells Po.

‘He needs to get off that damn Humility is what he needs,’ his father says. ‘Get him on the Ark with you, Lenny. Keep an eye on him. Some discipline will do him good.’

‘We’ll pull him back in line,’ Lenny says seriously. ‘Get him back on the right track. But we’re busy on the Ark, Zhang. None of this Elfor nonsense either. We’ve got serious crime. IP theft and cyber fraud are on the rise.’

‘You’ll have to knuckle down, Zhang,’ his mom says. ‘Do you want me to speak to Jorgey and clear the transfer?’

‘Get it done,’ his father orders. ‘People see you, Zhang and they see our family. And you too, Constable Po. People will see you dating Zhang and connect you to our family.’

‘I understand, sir,’ Po says politely.

Zhang thought Po would be a nightmare tonight, trying to give him a hand job under the table or something. But she’s quiet and meek. He doesn’t actually want a hand job right now at the table. No, that’s not true – he always wants a hand job, and just the thought of hand jobs makes him squirm and look away from Po’s tight dress. But it’s the lack of mischief in her he misses. This subdued politeness. She was vivacious and bubbly when they first came in, but that spark is rapidly dwindling under the onslaught from his family.

‘And we’ll look at your fast-track application soon, Po,’ his mother says, glancing at Zhang taking another hit of wine. ‘Take it easy, Zhang.’

‘What’s your career plan, Po?’ Zhang’s sister asks.

‘Well, I was hoping to be accepted on the accelerated promotion scheme then become a detective and work towards squad leader.’

‘And long term?’ Lenny asks. ‘What’s the ultimate goal for Constable Po?’ he asks with that patronising smirk on his face.

‘Chief of Police,’ Po says to a sudden silence as the Woo family share looks while Captain Po’s Dad winces slightly.

‘I think a more realistic goal may be wiser,’ he says quietly.

‘Ambition is a good trait,’ Mrs Woo says. ‘But one must remember one’s place.’

‘What place?’ Zhang asks.

‘It’s fine,’ Po says, giving him a look. ‘Perhaps the role of captain then.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Zhang says.

‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘It’s an unrealistic expectation,’ Zhang’s father says.

‘Why?’ Zhang asks.

‘Watch your tone with me, detective.’

‘I’m not a detective here. Why is it unrealistic?’

‘Zhang,’ his mother warns. ‘This is what happens when you drink too much wine.’

‘Lenny asked what Po’s ultimate goal is. She answered, and she’s being told it’s unrealistic. I’m questioning why.’

‘You do not question me,’ his father mutters, glaring ahead.

Zhang looks about, frowning lightly as he clocks the look on Po’s face, a worry in her eyes as she gently touches his leg while shaking her head discreetly.

‘Fair enough,’ he says, taking another swig of wine. ‘I personally think Po would make a brilliant chief.’

‘We all want the best for our children, detective,’ Po’s father says.

‘It is better to have realistic expectations,’ Captain Prick says.

‘Fine. Then your son can’t be chief either.’

‘Zhang,’ his sister snaps.

‘Sorry. Is that not right? So it would be a realistic expectation for him, but not for Po. I mean, how does it work? Is he already signed up on the list somewhere? Ah, but he’s not a Woo. He can’t be chief. Only a Woo can be chief.’

‘Zhang,’ Po whispers, giving him a sterner look.

‘He’s getting truculent,’ his mother snaps. ‘You’re getting truculent.’

‘I think it’s a fair question,’ Po’s mother says. ‘It seems to me that Zhang is merely trying to understand the reasoning behind the statement.’

‘But hang on,’ Zhang says, leaning forward. ‘If Po and I marry then she will be a Woo. So she can be chief.’

‘Honey, it’s fine, maybe drop it,’ Po says, a look in her eye. A worry he doesn’t like to see, but the prickle is there now. The irritation bubbling beneath the surface. He swallows it down, knowing it’s not just his life he’s messing with.

‘Sure, whatever you say,’ he says, reaching out for more wine.

‘And go easy on that,’ she says, making his hand freeze. ‘Anyway, this food is delicious, Mrs Woo. I must say what a great honour it is to be here tonight.’

‘How does the fast-track promotion scheme work?’ Zhang asks with that edge to his voice. The intensity starting to show. His addiction rearing up, too, at the way Po sits so close to him looking so amazing in that red dress. The way her arm brushes his. The need to fuck clawing at his insides. It’s too hot in here, and the years spent away from his family have given him a different perspective now. The time he’s spent on the Humility and in Neon City has changed him. This is too rigid, too structured. There’s no flow of life here. No noise and chaos, and everyone is so fucking pious and up their own backsides. ‘How does it work?’ he asks again, shifting in his seat.

‘What part of it?’ Po asks as the Woo family share awkward looks.

‘How do you get on it?’

‘The applicant has to be sponsored by a chief of police,’ his mother says, with an edge to her own voice that makes Po swallow and look imploringly at Zhang.

You promised me, she mouths.

‘Or a high-ranking official can sponsor the applicant,’ Lenny adds.

‘How high?’ Zhang asks.

‘Hey, bro, maybe eat some food. It’s getting a little awkward.’

‘Sure. Sure. How high?’

‘Zhang!’ his mother snaps.

‘He’s just asking a question,’ Po’s mother says. ‘Zhang, it has to be someone very high.’

‘Higher than a mid-ranking official like father then?’

‘That is enough, Zhang!’ his mother shouts.

‘Mrs Woo, I’m sorry,’ Mrs Lee says. ‘I don’t see your concern. Zhang is just asking questions to find out about Po’s career.’

‘It’s his tone,’ his father says.

Zhang nods, wipes his mouth on a napkin and leans in close to Po, kissing her cheek with an action that makes her startle. ‘Everything will be okay, I promise,’ he whispers into her ear. ‘I need the toilet,’ he announces, pushing to his feet. ‘Excuse me.’

He crosses the silent room and finds the bathroom, sealing the door closed, and stands with his hands braced on the side, blasting air in and out for a few seconds as the addiction slams through his body.

Po looks so good, but more than that, he hates the way she’s having to be meek and cowed to get a career. He can’t stand it. And if she is doing that now, then she’ll spend the next decades of her life in subservience to his mother and father. That’s without factoring in the shame they’ll bestow when she has to announce she isn’t marrying Zhang.

Fuck that. That’s an evil thing to do to someone, and he swipes his system to activate a call, waiting until a dark shadowy room blooms up in his holo feed. A face barely glimpsed within it, the features lost within the darkness. ‘Why is it so dark?’ he asks. No reply. He peers closer, trying to make out the details. ‘Are you there?’

‘I’m here,’ Helga says, her voice muted and low.

‘Are you hiding or something?’

‘What do you want, Zhang?’ her voice comes out, just a whisper.

‘I need a favour.’

‘What favour?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘What favour?’

‘I need you to sponsor someone on a fast-track promotion scheme in the police.’

‘Ask Jorgey.’

‘I’m asking you.’

‘Now isn’t a good time.’

‘I killed a man for you. And I’m over here doing your dirty work . . .’

A sigh. Heavy and long. ‘Who is it?’

Zhang blinks, taken aback by her manner and still unable to see her properly. ‘Her name is Po Lee. She’s a constable on the Beijing.’

‘Are you fucking her?’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you helping her?’

‘I just am,’ he snaps before taking a breath. ‘She works for my mom. They’ve told her they won’t sponsor her unless she marries me.’

‘Marry her then. Live your life,’ Helga says as a faint glow indicates she’s accessing another system. ‘She’s very pretty.’

‘She’s twenty-one.’

‘So?’

‘No. It’s not happening. Please. Just do it for me. I’ve never asked you for anything.’

‘Apart from the credits for the hookers I keep giving you.’

‘Yes. Other than that,’ he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as Helga stares at him while still lying on the floor of her office where she fell after Pierre left. She can see the struggle in him. The tension pouring from his body.

‘You need to have sex, Zhang. You look ready to burst.’

‘She’s twenty-one! I’m not fucking her.’

‘Then find someone else. Pay a hooker.’

‘They’re in the Hutongs. I can’t go down there.’

‘Walk into a bar. Trust me, you’ll find someone.’

‘I don’t want to do that anymore.’

‘Masturbate then.’

‘It doesn’t do it, Helga! The urge just comes back within seconds. Jesus. How the fuck are we having this conversation?’

‘You just said you killed for me,’ she says, rolling onto her back. ‘I think that makes us close, don’t you? Who do you think about when you masturbate? Whoever it is, just call them up. Trust me, they’ll be willing to help.’

‘Sure. Great idea! Hey, it’s Zhang, mind if I wank?’

She snorts a laugh, the first in a long time. ‘Pierre’s shut me off, Zhang. I’m finished.’

‘What?’

‘He’s taken my aides and security. He wants me off the ship or he’ll kill me.’

‘What the fuck! When did this happen?’

‘Today,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll sponsor your lady-friend, though. It’ll stand in place even when I’m gone.’

Zhang blasts air, trying to process what she just said. ‘Does he want the code? Is that it?’

‘I don’t know what he wants. It’s fine. Go and do what you need to do. Live by the sword and all that. Listen, Zhang – I’m sorry I got you into this.’

‘Oh, no. No no no. This isn’t over. If anyone’s killing you it’s me.’

‘We’re done, Zhang.’

‘We’re not! Give me a few minutes. I’ll call you back. Are you safe right now?’

She snorts another laugh and rolls back onto her side to punch into another system for a few seconds. ‘Done. Bye, Zhang.’

‘I’ll call you back,’ he says as the feed cuts off. ‘Fuck,’ he whispers, shaking his head and heads out into the main room that falls silent as he approaches the table.

‘Sorry about that,’ he says, as Po’s system chirps with an incoming message.

‘That should be on silent, constable,’ Zhang’s mother says.

‘Sorry. Of course,’ Po says, swiping to turn it onto silent, then catching sight of the name on the message. Blinking and looking again.

‘Po, turn it off,’ her father says.

‘Hang on,’ Po says. ‘I’ve just got a message . . .’

‘Po,’ her father urges, shooting a look of apology to Mr and Mrs Woo as Po’s head snaps up to look at Zhang who stands away from the table. His arms at his sides. His eyes on her and her alone.

‘How did you do that?’ she whispers.

‘I said it would be okay.’

‘Zhang! How did you do that?’

‘Do what?’ her mother asks. ‘Po, what is it?’

‘Oh my god! Zhang!’ Po says, rushing out from the table to pull him into a hug. ‘Oh my god! Oh my god!’ She bursts out laughing then starts to cry, doing both at the same time. ‘How did you do it?’ She pulls back to jump on the spot, grinning from ear to ear with tears on her cheeks, then cries out and pulls him into another hug as Zhang laughs, taking genuine delight that for once he did something decent for someone else. ‘I’m sponsored! Vice-Captain Helga Sveinsson just messaged me.’

‘No!’ her mother gasps, rushing from the table with her sister to crowd in on Po. ‘How? What did she say?’

‘Show me,’ her sister asks, swiping Po’s system to bring the message back up. ‘Dear Constable Po Lee. I am Helga Sveinsson, Vice-Captain of the WS Humility, and after hearing how dedicated and professional you are from my special agent, Detective Zhang Woo, I would like to formally invite you into the fleet-wide police accelerated promotion scheme. Please show this message on your application. My personal recommendation would be the WS Chastity where I am sure Captain Fei Hung Shu will welcome you into her programme for Asian female officers. Oh my fucking god, Po!’

‘Language,’ Mrs Woo snaps, but her admonishment goes unheard as Mr Lee rushes to his daughter, the delight evident on his face as the family comes together with tears falling from their eyes. Zhang looks past them, standing tall and muscled with his hair hanging over his forehead, staring at his father. The dark brooding energy pouring out.

‘Zhang!’ Mrs Lee says, rushing over to hug him, which he wishes she wouldn’t, being that she is a very fetching woman. Then it gets worse when Po’s hot sister joins in, and then even worse still when Po grabs him tightest of all, pressing her body to his.

‘The Chastity’s good,’ he whispers into her ear. ‘It’s busy. You’ll like it.’

‘I thought you were a squad detective,’ Mrs Lee says, reading the message again, now detached and hanging in the air as Zhang’s own family crowd in to see it.

‘Special agent?’ Lenny asks. ‘You?’

‘Ah you know, I can’t talk about it,’ Zhang says, winking at his brother. ‘Thanks for dinner . . .’ He pulls free of Po and turns away, heading for the door, walking fast. Walking faster. Needing to be away from her. A jog. A sprint. He reaches the stairwell and runs down to New Beijing. The walkways packed with people, the adverts glowing in the air. The heat and humidity pressing in. He sends a message to Helga as he runs, knowing where he needs to be. Aiming for the far side to the less busy lanes. Into a toilet and he seals the door closed before wiping the sweat from his face and activating a call, hardly believing he’s about to do this and figuring she probably won’t even answer.

She does answer and again they don’t speak for several seconds as Kristi frowns gently into the holo call, showing surprise at seeing it’s him. Lights and music behind her and Zhang clocks she’s in the Hocus Pocus. A glimpse of Pretty Penny as Kristi says something off camera, then starts walking, taking him down a corridor and into an empty VIP room, sealing the door behind her.

Still they don’t talk, but that look holds as he pores over every detail of her face and in turn, once again, she feels like she’s the only person in the universe right now. The way he looks at her. That darkness in his eyes. His hair hanging down. The sweat gleaming on his face.

‘What’s up?’ she asks lightly. ‘How can I help?’

That was not the response he expected, and he stalls, suddenly feeling very caught out. ‘Er . . .’

‘Oh, is this about last night when you watched me sleeping?’

‘You asked me to!’

‘For three hours?’

‘I thought . . .’

‘It’s fine. I’m teasing you. It was very sweet. Anyway, what’s up?’

‘Erm.’

‘You called me. Was there something you wanted?’

‘Yes?’

‘Was that a reply or a question?’ She asks in a conversational tone while trying not to smile at his discomfort.

‘It was a reply,’ he says slowly.

‘Okay. So, what do you want, Zhang? Are you still on the Beijing? It looks like you’re in a toilet.’

‘Er, yep. Yep. In a toilet.’

‘You’re calling me from a toilet?’

‘I am. Yes.’

‘I see. For any particular reason? Only Penny is waiting for me. We’re getting drunk in the Hocus Pocus.’

Zhang flounders in panic. She’s Kristi Carter. What the hell was he thinking? ‘I just, er . . . wanted to check that you’re good. You good? You look good. I mean, you know. Good. That’s good. Good then. Er . . . bye bye . . .’ He nods and winces as he reaches out to end the call as she bursts out laughing.

‘You’re such a prick. Come on. Out with it.’

‘What?’

‘That look in your eye is what.’

‘What look?’

‘That look!’ she says, jabbing a finger at his holo form. ‘The horny Zhang Woo look.’

‘I am not!’ he says in a voice that is way too high. ‘I am not,’ he says again, making it deeper.

‘Oh my god. You are! You called me from a toilet. This is brilliant!’ she says, laughing with genuine delight. ‘You’re horny and calling me from a toilet. Did you think I’d strip off for you?’

‘No!’

‘You did! It’s written all over your face. You should be ashamed.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ he says, slumping against the wall as she laughs until the tears stream down her cheeks. ‘I’m glad this amuses you.’

‘Oh, it does,’ she says, waving a hand at him. ‘Honestly. Thank you! I needed this laugh. What’s next? You gonna send me some creds for a bit of nip slip?’

‘Kristi!’

She laughs harder, bending over to gasp and waves a hand at him. ‘Isn’t that what the holo girls do? You pay and they show.’ She looks up at him and bursts out laughing again at the sorry look on his face. ‘Oh, bless, you look so crushed. What’s going on then?’

‘What?’ he asks, gruff and curt.

‘This. Calling me for holo sex or whatever. You’re Zhang Woo. Go and click your fingers and get laid.’

‘Honestly, I’m glad it’s making you laugh.’

‘Don’t you dare hang up! I need the whole story, buster. Why are you calling me?’

‘Stop laughing then.’

‘I can’t stop! Okay, okay. I will,’ she says, trying to be serious. ‘Seriously, tell me. I need to hear this.’

He shrugs, shaking his head and tutting.

‘Oh honey, your face,’ she says, biting her lip at his woeful state. ‘Did someone reject the great Zhang Woo?’

‘No!’

‘Yeah cos women don’t reject you, do they?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘Sorry. Go on. What happened.’

‘Nothing. I just . . . I . . .’

‘Go on. Say it.’

‘I was thinking about you.’

‘Should I be flattered at this? Who is she, Zhang?’

‘There isn’t a she.’

‘Liar. Who is she?’

‘Fuck’s sake. She’s twenty-one and offering me blow jobs and hand jobs and we went to dinner with my family and she said she’d give me a titfuck and my mom heard it . . . it’s not funny,’ he says when she cries out with laughter, stamping her feet and waving a hand at him. ‘My family were trying to set us up with an arranged marriage thing and she’s trying to be sweet and saying all this like, sexy stuff and I’m just like no! I can’t. I can’t do it. Have you finished?’ he asks when she stands up to waft her face. ‘My family are really powerful over here, so she thought I could get her promoted in the police. Whatever. I was just . . . the addiction was . . . and someone said . . . and then I thought . . .’

‘What?’ Kristi asks, trying to keep up. ‘Oh! Oh, I get it. You didn’t want to bang the twenty-one-year-old, so you’d thought you’d call me for a holo wank.’

‘Don’t say it like that!’

‘Oh my god. I’m loving this. Wow. Is it because we already fucked?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘What!’ she asks, bursting out laughing again. ‘You’ve fucked thousands of women, Zhang. Why me?’

‘I don’t know. Someone said to call the person I think about when I . . . you know . . . do that. Fuck! I’m trying to control it, okay? I am. It’s crippling me, and . . . she’s twenty-one for fuck’s sake . . . and I don’t want . . . you know . . . hookers anymore.’

‘Okay, okay, I get it. I do. I get it. Ten out of ten for trying, and the idea was sound, but you are a piece of work for thinking I’d drop my knickers for you.’

‘I didn’t think that,’ he says, feeling the shame creeping back in.

‘Oh, honey,’ she says, shaking her head at him again. ‘Okay, I get it. You need to come, right? The addiction.’

‘No. I’m fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Fuck, no. It’s killing me,’ he says as she bursts out laughing again. ‘I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t know what I was thinking. Don’t be offended.’

‘I should be, but for some reason I’m not. But fine. If you need to do it then go ahead.’

‘What?’

‘Do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘We can’t have you poking that thing into twenty-one-year-olds. Flop it out and do it. Do you want some credits?’

‘Kristi!’

‘Have a five-knuckle-shuffle. Pull the plonk. Squeeze the turkey or whatever men say. What’s wrong? Isn’t that why you called?’

‘No!’

‘Oh, you want me to join in? Unbelievable! This is the best thing ever . . . hang on a sec,’ she says, detaching the feed to bloom up into full size before resting back against a wall with her arms folded. ‘Okay, I’m ready for the show. Get dancing.’

‘Kristi . . .’

‘Fuck you, Zhang. You humiliated me. Go on. Dance for me. Pay it back.’

‘I’m not dancing in a toilet.’

‘Am I not worth it? Maybe the twenty-one-year-old will dance for you.’

‘What the fuck?! How did this even happen?’

‘You called me! Come on. Do me a little dance, hot stuff. Just groove a bit. Hey, it might even get me going. I’m serious. I masturbated last night thinking about you. Yeah, you didn’t know that, did you? Come on then. Do me a little dance.’ She winks slowly, pouting a little.

He looks at her, seeing that same look of mischief in her eye that Po had, but it’s different now. Somehow safer. The klaxon isn’t sounding in his head for one thing, and Kristi is no fool either. She’s smart and switched on. ‘Know what?’ he says, fixing her a look. ‘Fuck it.’

He starts grooving on the spot as Kristi widens her eyes and bursts out laughing again at Detective Zhang Woo in a toilet on the WS Beijing trying to dance. ‘This is the best day ever.’ She laughs harder, stunned that he’s actually doing it. The same man she slapped until her hand hurt and his face was swollen and red raw. The same man she told to stay the fuck away from her, and she laughs even more when he swipes into his system and ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum’ sounds out. Dancing more and rippling his body, getting his arms into it with absolutely no sense of rhythm whatsoever. ‘Oh my god! This is brilliant,’ she says and she can’t help but start moving too. The booze in her belly and the gruelling days of hell on this awful ship. He spots her dancing and detaches her holo form, making her life-size so they can dance side by side. The laughter giving vent to the stress and pressure inside until the track ends and changes to one of Chi-Chi’s slower, sexier tracks, but Kristi keeps going. Ruffling her hair and running her hands over her body as she grinds side to side, making eyes at Zhang as the air charges, shifting from silly fun to something very different. She studies him closely. His muscled arms and the way he stands with his head slightly lowered, staring up and out. Silent, brooding and deliciously dark.

‘Take it off.’ She nods at his shirt while reaching up to unfasten the top of her own blouse, waiting for him to undo his. Matching him inch by inch while she dances slowly. His torso comes into view. His defined chest, and she feels a rush inside, seeing the marks she left there. The muscles in his stomach standing out. The veins pushing from his arms and across his shoulders and the strands of hair hanging over his forehead, but more than anything it’s the fact that he called her and didn’t fuck a younger woman. He didn’t pay a hooker or call anyone else either. That turns her on more than anything, and she reaches up to press the clasp on the front of her bra, letting it drop away.

What happens next should be sleazy and sordid, and in a way it is, but it adds to the vibe of whatever this is. Their feeds detached as they stand facing each other, and never in her life did she ever think the sight of a man touching himself would turn her on. But it does and their holo hands reach into the other’s world as though to touch something that just isn’t there.

She orgasms first, convulsing and shuddering in a way that makes him follow suit a few seconds later, both of them grunting and flushing red-faced until the groans grow longer and softer. Until their legs get a bit rubbery. Until they focus back on what they just did. Both suddenly sheepish. Both suddenly shy, and both suddenly grinning like idiots.

36

Wednesday Night

The Ark

‘Best day ever,’ Sun says at their table in The Six Bar and Eatery, just before leaping to her feet and yelling, ‘BINGO!’ Which, it turns out, can be shouted at any time by anyone without the need to have an actual bingo. In fact, it’s just an excuse for everyone to drink another shot of cheap booze.

Yasmine looks around, smiling along with the jokes and banter while looking for a way to execute her idea.

An idea that presented itself when she tried to book a room for the night. A bit of digging about and she discovered most hubs have basic cabins to book for use by visitors. She even found her way through the net to the booking process, with a sudden idea of booking two cabins so she could finally have some privacy with Sam. Which would have been nice if two rooms had been available, but they weren’t – there was only one because of all the extra staff brought in to cope with the new matrix problems and the chaos it was causing.

That got Yasmine thinking, because any good thief knows that chaos creates confusion which in turn creates opportunity. All she needs now is the right person to help her exploit that opportunity.

She recognises more than a few Elfor faces at the tables around her, playing bingo and getting stinking drunk, but they’re all manual workers. Lifters, carriers. Shifters and stackers.

‘It needed to be said!’ A woman shouts out from the other side of the room as people lean and stand up to look over. Yasmine does the same, leaning back to see a table full of people talking about Sam’s new advert blooming up in a holo feed from one of their interfaces. ‘No, no, you’re not from the Elfors, Chris. I’m from the Elfors. People need to see that shit. They need to see it!’ The same woman now on her feet. Animated and laughing as she waves her arm at the guy arguing with her. Yasmine recognises her instantly. Alena Two Eyes. One of Colly’s orphans who left the Elfors a few years ago.

‘Chris thinks it’s too much,’ Alena Two Eyes calls out. ‘That video . . . the . . . the Nazi thing . . .’

‘Ah piss off,’ Chris yells back at the humoured abuse while sticking a middle finger up. ‘He’s got a point. Okay? I’m saying he’s got a point, but Nazis? Really?’

‘We’re locked in!’ Alena shouts, still laughing along with the banter.

‘Are they locking you in the admin offices now, Alena?’ someone else shouts to more laughs as Yasmine clocks the mesh jacket on the back of Alena’s chair. The jacket that means she’s not a manual worker.

‘Shout Hutongs,’ she leans in to whisper urgently at Sun.

‘You said don’t draw attention.’

‘Just do it!’

‘HOOTONGS!’ Sun yells out, grabbing her drink and standing up as the chorus of chants comes back with other people yelling Bustees and more yelling Elfors, and the play works with people looking over at Sun, laughing at her antics while Yasmine waits for Alena to look over. She catches her eye through the crowd and winks as Alena’s face lights up at the sight of wild Yassy smiling over at her.

* * *

Another night comes to the fleet and deep within Level 40 Osmosis works away at his virtual keyboards. An empty platter of skewers to one side, music playing in the air. Traces of green, yellow and white on his upper lip and Elfor Juice in his belly.

‘Is it done yet?’ Dmitri asks. ‘Why’s it taking so long?’

‘Er, cos I’m a fucking genius doing fucking genius things, that’s why,’ Osmosis says in a way that would normally lead to Dmitri telling Guphy to kill the cunt and his neck being snapped. Except, for some reason, Osmosis doesn’t set Dmitri off. Karen watches them from the other side of the room, sharing a look with Chatty Simon. ‘And anyway, it’s not my idea. It’s her idea,’ Osmosis adds, flicking a hand towards Karen.

‘Part of the plan,’ she says simply.

‘Crazy plan, Karen,’ Osmosis says, twitching from the drugs.

‘It better fucking work,’ Dmitri says, pacing back and forth with that dangerous energy pouring from him.

‘It will,’ Karen says. ‘I told you. If you want Yassy . . . this is the best way.’

‘Don’t say her fucking name,’ Dmitri mutters, booting a chair at Guphy.

‘Whoa, not conducive to a pleasant working environment,’ Osmosis says.

‘Fuck this. I need to get laid,’ Dmitri says, striding to the door. ‘One of you get in here.’

‘Hey! No fair. You said you’d wait,’ Osmosis says as a terrified looking woman rushes in wearing nothing more than a mesh dress and harsh make-up.

Karen shares another look with Simon and slips out of the shack to glance at the waiting hookers sharing a bottle of strong cheap synth Vodka, desperate to numb their senses before they get ordered inside. Karen walks off, finding a dark, isolated spot to make a call. Audio only. No video.

‘Is he doing it?’ the quiet man asks.

‘He’s doing it,’ she replies.

‘Good.’

The call cuts and the quiet man stares over to the protest by the stairwell. A beaker of coffee in his hands that he sips from now and then while watching the men and women still chanting away. The numbers still strong, but less than they were.

He heads off into the lanes and a few minutes later strolls by the mouth of the café as a woman with a bruised face comes out. Stella Yeah Yeah. The one that got beaten by the mob. Stella glances at the quiet man who politely nods a greeting and walks on about his business.

* * *

A quiet alley next to The Six Bar and Eatery. The sound of music, laughing and voices floating out as three people tuck up in the shadows.

‘The problem is, Yassy,’ Alena Two Eyes says, ‘it won’t stand up to scrutiny. Sure, I can add you and there’s loads of subbies coming in on temporary contracts to help out, but you’ll just be an empty name on a list with no back data.’

‘I’ll fill in the blanks and make it look good,’ Sam says.

‘And I promise I’m not robbing anything,’ Yasmine says. ‘This is just snooping about and we’ll be really discreet’

‘Hell,’ Alena says, blasting air. ‘I’m not sure. You know. I’ve got a good gig over here.’

Yasmine nods, playing the game while knowing it’s now just about the price. ‘It’s a risk. I get that, and Abdul is willing to pay.’

‘I don’t know, girl. I wanna help. But what if someone finds out?’

‘Ten k paid into your account right now.’

‘And that’ll do it. Okay, what do you need?’

* * *

Another night comes to the fleet as Abdul drains his glass and slips out of the booth in the Hocus Pocus.

‘You off?’ Penny calls over the music.

‘Councillor, one last question for my viewers,’ Kristi calls, then bursts out laughing with the others when he sticks a middle finger up and walks off.

He heads out the back and sets off through the lanes, feeling that bite of frustration at still not understanding why Pierre wants to shut the Elfors down. It has to be so they can move Neon City. There’s no other reason for it. He did wonder if all of this was something to do with the code Yasmine took, but there’s been no move from anyone. No word. No rumours. No hints. Nothing. There’s been nothing from Zhang either. Abdul heard he’d been given emergency leave and sent off the ship.

Anyway, like Penny said, he hasn’t got time to take a shit right now, let alone think about anything except this clusterfuck. The code will have to wait. Saving the Elfors comes first.

He turns into the alley leading to his office and glances down at a drunk guy with a bleeding nose lying passed out in a puddle of piss. A snort of laughter that this place will never really change that much. He reaches the stairs leading up to his office door, half expecting to see Olga still on guard duty but she’s not there. He figures Penny told her to go home – Olga wouldn’t ever leave her post without being told.

He mounts the stairs, lifts his wrist to the door and knows the second it swishes back that someone is inside his rooms.

He reaches up over the door jamb to pluck the flexi-pipe down, holding it low as he walks through the corridor towards his office at the end. The lights are off but the glow of Neon City bathes the room as Abdul grips the weapon, cocking his head over to listen.

‘I don’t like rude men.’ Olga’s monotone voice, coming from his office. ‘That’s why I hit him . . .’ She falls silent as Abdul figures at least now he knows who hit the guy outside. ‘Are you still working in the vice queen lady place?’ Olga asks and Abdul steps into his office to stare at the person sitting in his comfy chair with her feet on his desk.

‘I am the vice-captain, Olga. If that’s what you mean,’ Helga says, not batting an eye as she glances over to Abdul. ‘Councillor Shariff.’

‘Vice-Captain.’

‘Nice pipe,’ she says, before taking a sip from a glass tumbler. A black hooded smock draped over the back of his chair.

‘Thought you were a burglar.’

‘Oh, I see. And you were ready to thwart our criminal endeavours. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it is only Olga and I.’

‘That’s Helga,’ Olga tells Abdul from the sofa against the wall while holding a tumbler of liquid.

‘Is that whisky?’ Abdul asks, stepping over to her. ‘Olga, you can’t drink whisky.’

‘And why can’t Olga drink whisky?’ Helga enquires as Olga hands the glass to her boss.

‘People tend to get broken when Olga drinks whisky. You can go, Olga. Get some sleep.’

‘Okay, boss,’ she says, getting to her feet to tower over Abdul. ‘Is it a new shirt day tomorrow?’

‘Yep, and shower too. And make sure you eat. There’s no point telling Olga to call you vice-captain,’ Abdul says after she’s gone.

‘It’s fine. She can call me Helga. It’s real, too.’

‘What is?’

‘The whisky. Try it.’

Abdul takes a sip from Olga’s tumbler and savours the rich warmth as Helga leans over to tap a fingernail against a full bottle of single malt on his desk.

‘Brought you a gift. Well, more a trade really.’

‘What do you want to trade?’

She gropes about under his desk with an expression of mock focus before smiling in delight and pulling the bottle of Elfor Juice out. ‘This. Although I do believe it’s illegal to possess Elfor Juice, Councillor Shariff.’ She downs her whisky in one shot and twists the cap from the bottle to pour a big draught of the glowing yellow liquid into her tumbler.

‘Finger span is all you need,’ Abdul says, watching her closely.

‘Your concern is noted; however, I’m feeling somewhat reckless tonight.’

She gives him a daring look and drinks it down with a gasp until the warmth starts spreading out.

She pours another shot while he shakes his head as though to warn her not to do it, but she holds her glass out for him. He takes the shot down, keeping his eyes on hers and passes the glass back as the bite hits and his eyes lose focus before the pleasure comes.

‘Would you like your chair back?’ she enquires politely. He shakes his head and retreats to the sofa, stretching his legs out and dumping the flexi-pipe on the seat next to him. ‘It’s very comfy,’ she adds, looking at the lights of Neon City dancing on the ceiling and walls of his darkened office. ‘I can picture you sitting here planning your domination of the fleet.’

‘If you add being nagged by Penny then you’re about right.’

‘And where is Penny?’

‘Getting drunk with Kristi Carter.’

‘I see. Making friends with the free press. A wise move.’

He doesn’t reply but lifts his tumbler, thinking whisky and Elfor Juice might not be such a good idea. Then he shrugs and drinks it anyway.

‘Penny is a good PA?’ Helga asks. ‘One would assume she is. She appears very professional.’

‘You’re not poaching her. Not even for that bottle of single malt.’

Helga smiles softly while pouring another glass. ‘Perhaps I will poach her.’

‘And why would you need Penny?’ Abdul asks, wondering why the hell she’s in Neon City without security or aides.

‘Hmmm. That is the question,’ Helga says, still looking around for another long minute. ‘I do like your office, Abdul. It’s very you.’

Abdul looks at the sorry state of his office. The walls scuffed and marked. The ceiling the same. Shelves filled with crap gathering dust. Old mismatched sofas and his battered desk. ‘Thanks.’

‘It’s a compliment. Have you ever seen Pierre’s office? It’s filled with antiques and paintings of fat old white men killing things. It’s very dark and masculine, and not in a good way. But your office, Abdul. Your office smells of you and your men. Sweat and coffee and perhaps some stale griddled rat behind that sofa . . .’ She smiles as Abdul snorts a laugh into his glass. ‘It reminds me of the offices we used when I started out. Lots of eager young politicians all sharing desks and ideas. Now I have my own grand office on Level One. But you must be wondering why I am here. Yes?’

He stays silent as she takes another sip while gently rocking in his chair. The sound of it creaking out, but it’s not unpleasant. Penny even said she loves the noise and finds it strangely soothing. Abdul can see why now, sitting on his sofa and listening to it. ‘You’ll tell me when you’re ready.’

She stands up and pours another shot in her glass before carrying the bottle to stand looming over him in silence with her blonde hair pulled back and the colours of Neon City flashing across her face. She looks to say something, but instead she pours him a shot and walks off like a prowling animal that isn’t quite ready to take its prey.

‘I saw the Nazi advert Pretty Boy made,’ she eventually says, albeit casually, while turned away, looking at this and that.

‘Did you like it?’

‘I’m not sure like is the right word,’ she says with a wry smile at catching him checking her out in the reflection of a dusty old mirror. She can sense he’s still very guarded and suspicious. But then she is here alone without security or aides and plying him with booze.

She turns, strolls over to stare down at him for a moment and, without speaking, hands him the bottle to hold so she can pick the flexi-pipe up. ‘These are illegal, aren’t they?’

‘You can’t have one in a public place.’

She gives it a gentle swing as Abdul watches her. ‘Have you ever hit anyone with it?’

‘Yes,’ he says honestly, earning brief eye-contact before she looks back at the weapon.

‘I never quite understood why they’re so dangerous, but then I often fail to appreciate the danger of things.’

‘The core is an AI-controlled flex driven by a current that adds force to the strike delivery.’

‘Which means?’

‘It hits people harder than you can hit them.’

‘I see,’ she says, feeling the weight of it in her hand. A flash of something crosses her face. Tension in her grip and white dots bloom across her knuckles. Pierre face’s in her mind. Pierre’s men in her office. ‘Could I hurt someone with it?’

‘A child can break a bone with one of those, if they know how to use it.’

‘You just hit, don’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Show me.’

‘Helga . . .’

‘Show me,’ she says, an edge to her voice. An order given but one that smacks of nerves. Abdul rises from the sofa to gently take it from her hand.

‘Off,’ he says and swings it hard. The pipe flexes and strikes the wall with a dull thud. ‘On,’ he says, doing something to the handle. He hits again, flicking his wrist and she flinches from the deep resounding noise of the impact.

‘Show me how to do that.’ She moves over to him, taking the weapon in her hand.

‘Switch at the bottom. Off and on. Hit the wall with it off.’

She hits the wall and tuts at her own feeble attempt then, turns it on and tries again with more force, feeling the end flex and strike as she smiles at Abdul. ‘May I do it again?’

‘Knock yourself out . . . not literally.’

She hits the wall harder, enjoying the feel and the noise it makes when it strikes. The irony of having a tool to make her stronger than she actually is is not lost. That’s why she’s here. She’s too weak to fight Pierre on her own and Abdul is the tool she needs. ‘I’m rather damaging your wall,’ she says a little breathlessly.

‘Yeah, because it was perfect before.’

She snorts a laugh and hits it again with a satisfying thud.

‘May I?’ he asks, moving in close behind to tap her feet wider with his foot while wrapping an arm gently about her waist. ‘Widen your stance a little and shift your right foot back. That’s it. Now pivot from the hips, like this,’ he turns with her, making her twist to the side. ‘Then flick it like a whip.’

‘You’re assuming I’ve used a whip,’ she says, turning to look at him.

She does it again, pivoting from the core as the loudest thud comes yet and he steps away to take his glass back up. ‘Oh, I do like this, Abdul. There’s something very satisfying about it. Is my stance correct? Perhaps you should come in and adjust me again.’ She turns to wink at him, smiling as he frowns lightly and heads back to the sofa. ‘Oh now, I’ve scared him away. Bad Helga, being too pushy as ever.’

He refills their glasses and turns back to hand hers over. ‘Want to tell me yet?’

‘In time,’ she says, taking a big sip. ‘But can I trust you?’ she asks, bringing the stick over to gently touch his shoulder, her eyes studying his face. ‘If I hit a man full force in the head with this, would I kill him?’

‘Probably, and make sure you do.’

She frowns, not understanding.

‘Otherwise he’ll get back up and hurt you with it. How did you get here, Helga?’

‘Helga now is it? How very informal of you. I walked down. All the way from Level 1 to Level 37, where a lovely young stair guard supervisor called Faiza was waiting to help me slip through unobserved.’

She prods him lightly in the chest with the tip of the pipe, pushing him back to the sofa. The prowling animal deciding to make her move and she keeps the pressure on until he lowers down so she can stand over him in a position of dominance.

‘Option one was to stay in my office and die. Option two was to flee, but I know that’s what they wanted me to do. They gave me an escape route, and had I taken it the shuttle would have crashed, or some other accident would have befallen me. That’s why I stayed where I was and that’s why I’ve been so silent. Because I only had those two options.’

He doesn’t speak, but stares up as the game takes yet another twist.

‘And then, three things happened. The first was that I took a call from someone who works for me. He wanted me to help someone, but he also said something . . .’

She trails off, thinking about Zhang calling her with that sorry story about the twenty-one-year-old hot young thing that he was desperately trying not to have sex with. Helga had opened Po’s online profile and seen how pretty she was, but she could see why Zhang would want to repel someone like that. She was too young and too innocent, and she wouldn’t fit Zhang’s perception of what he should have in life.

However, Zhang then said something else. He said this wasn’t over and that if anyone was going to kill her, it would be him. Helga found that funny because it meant Zhang was committing himself to his mission. Which again suited his self-perception as a lone wolf torturing himself for his failings. For his sex-addiction and the death of Mahatma.

‘Where was I?’ she asks, blinking at Abdul. ‘Oh yes. I had my interface open which then meant I saw the Nazi clip. I saw how we were all portrayed, and do you know what stood out, Abdul? Do you know what really caught my eye?’

‘You were on our side.’

‘I was on your side,’ she whispers, studying his every nuance. ‘Did you order that advert to be made?’

‘No.’

‘But you know the maker, yes? You know Pretty Boy. He was at your porridge party.’ He stays silent, reading her as fast she reads him. ‘Perhaps the question I should ask is why was I on your side . . . ’

‘You tell me.’

She downs her whisky and slides her knees to either side of his legs, moving forward to straddle him with her skirt riding up, showing her thighs as the Klaxon sounds in the back of his head, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t twitch a muscle.

‘I wondered what that meant. Why wasn’t I, the vice-captain of this ship, in those dirty clouds with Jean and Pierre?’

She falls silent with the tip of flexi-pipe on his shoulder, gauging his reactions while knowing that Abdul’s true nature is that of protector.

‘Do you know why I was being threatened? Because I told Pierre I was coming out in support of the Elfors and I was going to back you for vice-captain. I told him enough was enough. We need a full amnesty. Oh, he was furious. He hates you. The man loathes you. You’re everything they’re not. He said they’re moving Neon City and I’d be cut in for the profits and when I refused, he told me he was going to stand for re-election and make sure the Elfors were cut off. Then he took my aides and security away and left me isolated in my office . . .’

She pauses again, feeling the tension in the air as he hangs off every word.

‘And then, after that advert was released, they came into my office . . .’ She pauses to let the nerves and fear show. ‘Pierre and his men. He said I had to go, or I would be killed. He said I had to denounce you and say you arranged the robbery and murders and that I supported Pierre’s final resolution . . .’ Tension in her voice as it quavers with emotion. ‘They smashed everything. My desk, my furniture. They took the pots in my bathroom and broke them on the floor . . . and they held me while they did it.’ She stops talking to swallow with emotions showing on her face. ‘But I have my pipe now. May I keep it?’ She tries to sound light and jovial but her voice cracks. ‘I rather feel I may need it . . .’

She lets it go and moves her hands to her blouse as the pipe thuds to the floor, and Abdul frowns when she starts unfastening the buttons.

‘Helga—’

‘They said I was old.’ She cuts him off while opening her blouse, a strange look of defiance in her eyes, and when she speaks she does so with energy and anger. ‘They smashed my office up and they pinned me over my desk and stripped me while they laughed . . .’

A grunt in his throat. A flash of violence in his eyes.

‘I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do a thing, and do you know what Pierre did? He slapped my backside and said I was old.’ Her voice drops. His eyes harden and she unfastens her bra, flicks it away, then reaches back to unfasten her skirt that she pulls up over her head to sit naked upon him, presenting herself with her chin high. With her eyes fixed on his. With her heart hammering in her chest. ‘Do I look old, Abdul?’

‘No.’

She takes his hands, roughed and calloused, and presses them to her breasts while glaring defiantly. ‘Do I feel old?’

Elfor Juice and whisky in his body, clouding his mind, and he can’t help but exhale at the touch of her. At the warm softness of her body. At the bizarre defiance in her tone, and he gasps when she frees him from his trousers as she moves closer. ‘Tell me, do I feel old to you?’ she whispers the words out and kisses his mouth, biting his upper lip as she guides him inside with a grunt. ‘We’re going to take this ship, Abdul. You and I.’ She sinks down, both gasping. ‘Protect me and I will give you your Elfors . . .’

Lies and mistruths. Chaos created to cause confusion. Helga lost the code. Abdul knows where it is. There is a new planet, but neither mention those things within the smoke and mirrors.

They both know there’s more going on. They both feel it in their guts – or maybe that’s just the Elfor Juice and the whisky. And maybe they’re just two older people holding drunken hopes within the almighty clusterfuck that is rapidly shaping their lives.

37

Thursday Morning

The Humility

‘What have we got?’ Jorgey asks, stepping through the virtual police tape to see the toilets full of uniformed officers.

‘Just an Elforist hanging about,’ Sergeant Hopkins says, to a few sniggers from the officers and a hard glare from Jorgey. ‘Just a joke. Go on lads, get out and look for witnesses and get someone on the door.’

‘Who found the body?’ Jorgey asks.

‘Some Elforist,’ Sergeant Hopkins says with a look of distaste. ‘Marko someone or other, but he won’t give a statement. Said I don’t want no trouble, boss. Was always gonna happen though, Chief. People’ll only put up with so much . . .’

He heads out, leaving Jorgey alone with the body of Stella Yeah Yeah hanging from a pipe and a message burnt into the wall using a laser cutter.

Eye For An Eye: No More Excuses

A great sadness inside. A sense of wrongness that always comes from the scene of a murder, and this isn’t just on anyone, but the poor woman attacked by the mob for trying to buy noodles. Now she’s dead. Killed while scrubbing shit from the toilets.

She sighs again, wishing to hell Zhang was here because for all his faults – of which there are many – he’s damned good at this stuff. She’s got more detectives and they’ll soon bundle in, and so will the forensic team. But to them it’ll be just another dead Elforist.

That said, just because Zhang isn’t here doesn’t mean he can’t take a look, and she swipes her system, making the call.

‘Chief? What’s up?’ Zhang croaks, blinking awake.

‘Take a look at this.’

‘What is that? Suicide?’ he asks as she twists the feed to show him the wall.

‘Eye for an Eye. No More Excuses – fuck me. Okay, go right back so I can see the whole room. Jesus, that’s Stella Yeah Yeah, she’s from the Elfors. Have you got a suspect? Go closer. Show me the cubicles.’

‘Chief Raynor!’ Kristi calls out, rushing past the officers to get a look inside the toilets.

‘GET OUT!’ Jorgey shouts. ‘Do that again, Kristi, and I will have you arrested.’

‘Who found the body?’ Zhang asks.

‘Someone called Marko. Another Elforist, apparently.’

‘Mild Marko. He’s a cleaner. Okay, show me the body . . . Go in closer. I need to see her face. Look for signs of trauma.’

‘I can’t touch her. Forensics haven’t been in yet.’

‘She’s an Elforist. Forensics won’t give a shit, and if she was killed overnight then that fuckwit Sergeant Hopkins would have been in with the duty shit-squad poking everything. Lift her chin up . . .’

‘She’s stiff. So what’s that? Four to six hours since death?’

‘You can’t rely on rigor that closely. Depends on too many other factors. Okay, she doesn’t have fresh marks . . . Check the skull for blunt trauma. Feel anything?’

‘No.’

‘Show me her fingernails. No breakages, no blood . . . She didn’t fight back. No bruises on her arms either.’

‘That’s something I guess,’ Jorgey says, gently letting her go. ‘At least they didn’t beat her again.’

‘They?’

‘The mob. They already beat her once. At least they didn’t do it again.’

‘A mob didn’t kill her, Chief. She was head down working in that cubicle and taken from behind. A mob would have trashed her cart, smashed the place up and beaten her. It’s too neat – and that message was all done by one person. That’s not a mob attack. That’s an execution.’

* * *

Outside the toilets, Kristi Carter shakes her head, both at the hangover and the jarring sadness of seeing Stella hanging.

She’d only interviewed Stella yesterday, at the back of the café, but didn’t release it because of the attention Pretty Boy’s advert was getting. Now Stella’s dead. Hanging from a wire. Murdered for being an Elfor.

Something about it all makes Kristi feel weird inside. That she’s connecting with these people on a personal level and getting drawn into this horrible grotty ship. But still, that nag is there. The one telling her this is not what it seems. That there’s something else going on. How the hell can Mahatma be in two places at once? Why is Pierre coming out so vocally as anti-Elfor? Where is Helga? Why is the protest still going on?

She wants to call Zhang and ask him, but that situation is also spiralling into a big barrel of dicks.

She thinks to ask Penny. Just someone. Anyone. But there’s no one. Kasim just wants her tits bouncing as she runs from crisis to crisis to keep the ratings up. He even told her off once for wearing a sports bra.

‘That’s disgusting,’ she told him.

‘I couldn’t give a shit about your tits but it’s in your contract.’

It was too: The wearing of a sports bra will be at the discretion of the studio manager.

Kristi used to love being seen as a sex symbol. Now she’s growing to hate it. She also hated Zhang, while conveniently failing to remember she went into his cabin and gave him Elfor Juice after hearing he was a sex addict. Then she had the gall to beat his face until he bled, which was before she called him while she was drunk after masturbating and crying.

It’s this fucking ship. It really is. It’s a big barrel of dicks.

‘Kristi!’ Rona snaps her back to the now, making her spin to see Abdul and Helga striding over with his security team as the growing press pack rushes towards them.

* * *

‘Stand at the back and don’t touch anything,’ Jorgey says on seeing Helga and Abdul. ‘Colin, you can come in. My duty detective hasn’t arrived yet. You can tell me what you think.’

‘She was in that cubicle,’ Colin says. ‘Grabbed from behind and hoisted up . . .’ He steps closer to the body, peering at her face and hands without touching her. ‘No defensive marks – it was quick.’

‘Mob must have seen her coming in,’ Abdul says.

‘Mob didn’t do this,’ Colin says. ‘This was a single perp. Maybe two. In and out.’ He trails off with a look to Jorgey who nods thanks, thinking that’s two skilled detectives now saying the same thing.

‘Any idea who the murderer is?’ Helga asks.

‘Take your pick. Everyone’s whipped up into a frenzy from Captain Jefferson’s final resolution.’

‘Yes. Yes, I did hear that,’ Helga says, looking about again.

‘What about you? What side are you on? Because if you go anti-Elfor I’ll be withdrawing my officers from public duty until we get Fed support,’ Jorgey says, glaring at Helga.

‘We’ll wait outside,’ Abdul says, nodding for Colin to follow him.

‘It’s been fucking hell down here!’ Jorgey whispers angrily. ‘Where have you been? And what the fuck is Pierre doing? Final resolution? What is that? Why say that? And this. This is what happens. People get lynched. Fuck me! It’s like he’s trying to whip it up on purpose.’

Helga holds still, thinking exactly the same thing. ‘I told you there was more going on, Jorgey.’

‘You need to listen to me, Helga. This ship is about to implode. The stair guards are on constant high alert and pulling double shifts because the Elfors are one step away from rioting and storming the stairs – and now we’ve got a dead Elforist hanging from a fucking wire.’

Helga draws air, thinking fast to keep Jorgey on side. ‘Pierre has withdrawn my aides and security because I’m coming out as pro-Elfor.’

‘Can he even do that?’

‘Not legally. But who’s going to stop him?’ Helga asks, giving Jorgey a questioning look. ‘You? Are you going to tell him? Because you’ll be finished too.’

‘I can mobilise my officers.’

‘Mobilise against what? You’ve got local cops and no tactical teams. Pierre’s trying to create a situation so he can call for Federal assistance and seal the Elfors in and you and I . . . well, I don’t need to say what will happen to you and I.’

‘Jesus, Helga. Pierre isn’t a murderer,’ Jorgey says, pulling back in distaste before blinking at the expression on Helga’s face. ‘He’s not a murderer, Helga. He’s a captain.’

‘Shuttle crash. Twenty-five years ago.’

‘Fuck off! Don’t even . . . What the hell are you . . . Okay, this is getting way out of control. We just need to . . . I mean you need to . . .’ She falls silent, trying to think of too many things at once.

‘It’s not that simple, is it?’ Helga asks gently.

Jorgey sags against the wall, closing her eyes and rubbing her face for a very long second. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Whatever it takes,’ Helga whispers. ‘Leave the politics to me and stay out of it until I need you.’

A clamour of press greets Helga the second she steps free, journalists and reporters rushing in with lights and cameras.

‘I am deeply saddened to say that the body of a woman was found hanging in these public toilets early this morning. Chief Raynor has informed me that although investigations are at a very early stage, we are able to state with some certainty that the body is that of a woman called Stella. A woman from the Elfors employed as a cleaner and, tragically, the same woman who was attacked by a mob for trying to buy food. I also need to tell you that a message has been written inside the toilets which reads An eye for an eye. No more excuses.’

‘Are you pro- or anti-Elfor?’ a reporter cuts in as more reporters start calling out.

‘Are you backing Pierre?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘When are you sealing the Elfors?’

Helga pauses again. Taking a breath. ‘I have been absent because I gave my backing to Councillor Shariff in support of the Elfors—’

Another burst of noise, with questions thrown out and other reporters shushing those trying to cut in.

‘Sadly, that view is not endorsed, or agreed with, by Captain Jefferson, and while a very awful division has been taking place on this ship, the same thing has sadly been happening between Pierre and me. Let me be clear. I do not agree with any form of final resolution and I cannot stand by any longer and watch the needless and cruel suffering of thousands of innocent people locked in the Elfors. And this now, to so cruelly murder a mother of three young boys, is abhorrent—’

‘Randolph had kids!’ a woman shouts out. ‘Eye for an eye! FUCK THE ELFORS.’

‘Randolph Simpson was in a sexual relationship with Mahatma Goudier. He allowed himself to be compromised. The poor woman in there was cleaning your toilets and was murdered for no reason. We cannot keep blaming the Elfors for every issue on this ship. We must unite against hate and tyranny, and if I win captaincy I will be seeking support from the fleet for an amnesty within the Elfors. A whole amnesty. Every man, every woman and every child should be registered—’

The tension ramps and the chaos grows as more voices add to the bedlam, while off to one side, leaning against a wall, the quiet man sips from his beaker of coffee. A call on his wristband. Audio only. No video.

‘She’s a fucking bitch,’ the caller says the second it connects. The voice old, deep and gruff. ‘I’m the captain of this damned ship and I will not be called a fucking Nazi. I want every word she says pulled from the net. This is my reputation at stake and why is that fucking advert still online? Get it down.’

‘We discussed this,’ the quiet man says, watching Helga. ‘And if you want to continue, then you need to do as we say.’

‘Do not talk to me in that tone, you little cunt.’

‘Of course. I shall feed that back and explain that you are unwilling to continue.’

‘Wait! You tell them I’m still in, but when the time comes I want that fucking bitch killed. I’ll do it my damned self if I have to.’

The quiet man cuts it off and makes another call. Audio only. No video. ‘Can you talk?’ he asks politely.

‘Gimme a sec,’ the female voice replies. ‘Yeah, go on. I can now.’

‘The adverts he’s done are dreadful. A blind child could have done better.’

Karen sighs at the other end. ‘He’s difficult to work with. Dmitri’s got him messed up on drugs and promising him hookers if he gets it done quickly. But he said he knows what he’s doing.’

‘Keep him on track. I’m relying on you.’

‘I will. Me and Simon won’t let you down. We still have a deal, right?’

‘Stick to the plan and use the death of Stella to get your Elfor chums into a frenzy. Tell them an amnesty will never work and, even if it did, they just want Neon City.’

The quiet man cuts it off and takes a sip of coffee before making another call. Audio only. No video.

‘I said I will contact you when it’s done,’ the loud male voice answers in Chinese.

‘But you have not contacted me, Leo. Therefore, one must assume Zhang Woo is still alive, therefore, one may assume you are not capable of killing him. If you want our deal to continue then you will do as we say or we will find someone else. Is that clear? I do hope that is clear. Get it done by any means necessary.’

38

Thursday morning

Helga’s Office, Level 1

The Humility

The crew freeze as the door swishes back and Pierre Jefferson strides in, his face already furious from watching Helga’s announcement. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he demands. ‘Who are they?’ he shouts at Roger and his security team rushing in behind him. ‘ANSWER ME!’

‘ELFORISTS!’ Roger shouts in alarm, drawing his voltage stick as his team do the same. ‘DROP YOUR WEAPONS!’

‘We’re just cleaners, sir,’ Dil says, glancing over to Mild Marko and the others spread about Helga’s office.

‘Who let you in?’ Pierre demands.

‘I did,’ Helga says, walking in behind them.

‘You brought Elforist scum onto Level 1?’

‘I employed a licenced cleaning crew after the mess you and your men made smashing my office up. Dil, thank you. All done?’

‘We are, ma’am. Few of them pictures were broken, I’m afraid. We tried to stick ’em back together . . .’ He falls silent at the look of rage on Pierre’s face as he stalks towards Helga.

‘I saw your statement.’

‘Well done you,’ Helga says lightly, arching an eyebrow at him. ‘What are you going to do, Pierre? Bend me over a desk and pull my trousers down again?’

‘I’ll snap your fucking neck is what . . .’ He trails off as she looks past him and spins to see Abdul standing in the doorway. ‘More Elforist scum. Clear them out! All of them. Use whatever force necessary.’

‘Glad to,’ Roger says as Colin walks in, followed by Pasha, Boris, Clara and Olga, all drawing voltage sticks as they fan out behind Abdul.

Motion from the side and Roger turns fast to see Dil now gripping his broom with a dark look on his face. Mild Marko clenching his fists. He found Stella’s body and that rage shows now, flooding his features as the other cleaners look ready to pile in with a raw violence hanging in the air. An energy coursing through all of them. Dil’s not little either. None of them are.

‘All good?’ Penny asks, the last one in. ‘Ah, that looks better now. Vice-Captain? Are you happy with the result?’

‘I am,’ Helga says, staring at Pierre as he turns to look at her cold blue eyes. ‘I would say this is a very good result.’

‘You’ll come,’ he says. Turning away and heading for the door.

‘I did last night. Several times, in fact,’ she whispers as Pierre walks out with a look of fury while Penny turns away with a grossed-out expression.

‘Hey, Roger is it?’ Colin asks, following the Level 1 security team out through the anteroom. Roger stops to look back, his men doing the same, all staring hard at Pasha and the others piling up behind Colin. ‘Listen, we’re both guards, right.’

‘I am. You’re a murdering ex-cop.’

‘Sure. However you see it,’ Colin says mildly, the experience of years letting him get in close before he makes his move, then he surges in to grip Roger by his jacket as Pasha and the rest move in fast. Picking their targets to slam them into walls and over desks with arms across throats. Faces glaring. Clara pushing one down with his elbow joint held against her knee. Boris lifting one off the floor to pin against a wall.

‘You ever touch Helga again and I’ll slit your fucking throat,’ Colin says, gripping Roger’s chin with one hand before pushing him hard, sending him across the room as the others all let go. He draws back towards Helga’s room as one of Roger’s men snatches air and starts drawing his Taser pistol.

‘Ah-ah-ahhh,’ Clara says, waggling a finger at him. ‘Don’t let this get ugly, sugar . . .’ She winks at the guy, then heads back in to see Helga necking a stiff drink and the cleaners all looking on as though not quite sure what to do now.

‘Sorted?’ Abdul asks, looking to Colin and Clara.

‘We had us a polite word,’ Clara says. ‘What’s up with you, Pen?’

‘Just don’t even ask,’ she says, shooting a look at Abdul. ‘Anyway, Dil. Thank you. Send the invoice and I’ll get the payment made.’

‘Will do, Pen,’ Dil says, the strain showing on his features. The strain showing on all of them.

‘Thank you,’ Helga calls, her legs feeling rubbery from the confrontation, but that buzz is back. The tingle inside at the game underway. An excitement she hasn’t felt for years.

‘Sam, hey, it’s Penny,’ Penny says, bringing Sam up on a holo feed. ‘We’re in.’

‘Okey-dokey . . . I need access to the room’s interface. Ask the vice-captain to grant me admin rights. She can remove me after.’

‘Done,’ Helga says from her desk, punching into her office interface and watching as someone else takes control of her system, but therein lies the trust of what this is now. She’s picked a team. ‘Anything?’ she asks.

‘Minute,’ Sam murmurs, lost in his own world at a table in the Six Bar and Eatery reading the layout and controls, before tapping away to add the security scanner he researched and downloaded in readiness. ‘It’s gonna start. Everyone stay still . . .’

A 360-degree green light snaps to life from the desk system and spreads out to all sides, moving through the furniture and people as they turn to watch it.

‘How many people in the room?’ Sam asks.

‘Eight,’ Helga replies.

‘I’m getting more signals. There’s more than eight wristbands in that room.’

‘I keep spares,’ Helga says, opening a drawer to count the unmarked bands inside. ‘There’s six in here. Fourteen in the room.’

‘That’s what I’m getting . . . Hang on a sec.’ Sam punches deeper, seeing signals all over the place. The digital window. The heating and air flow. Speakers, and all manner of other digital signatures. But those are normal. He’s looking for anything not normal. Anything secret. Anything hidden – which by definition makes them hard to see, but not impossible, and Sam spots subtle variations coming from three wristbands. Clara, Colin and Helga.

‘There’s three bugs in the room,’ he says, reading the data. ‘Nobody move . . . Clara? Where are you standing?’

‘By the sofas, sweetie.’

‘There’s a device somewhere near you using your system to stay hidden. Colin, there’s another one by you.’

‘I’m by the bathroom,’ he calls, turning to look in the room.

‘And one by you, ma’am,’ Sam tells Helga.

‘This it?’ Clara asks, flipping the coffee table over and she pulling a small sticky object the size of a synth bean from the underside.

‘Yeah, you’ve got it,’ Sam says, seeing the change in her wristband’s pulse from the closer proximity to the bug.

‘Mine’s behind the mirror,’ Colin says, feeling the edge and plucking another sticky synth bean out.

‘Got it,’ Abdul says from Helga’s desk, on his knees and plucking the last one out from underneath.

‘Put them in liquid,’ Sam calls. A few seconds later and the signals fade away. ‘Done. All clear.’

‘Sam. Thank you!’ Helga calls.

‘Anytime . . . Er, do you need me? I need to blow the bots, hack a matrix and help two hot spies . . . which is perhaps the coolest thing I’ve ever said in my entire life.’

‘Remember what I said,’ Helga calls out. ‘Do not get drawn in. And enjoy your pies.’

‘Spies, not pies,’ Sam says, but the call is already cut and he takes a sip of coffee before looking at his beaker. ‘I am an actual government spy.’

‘You’re the best spy ever, Sam!’ Beaky says as Sam mimics a high-pitched voice.

‘Hey. I’m just doing my bit, Beaky.’

‘And one day you’ll even get to have sex with your girlfriend,’ Beaky says as Sam gives him a look. ‘Or probably not . . .’ Beaky adds quietly.

‘Yeah, let’s stick with espionage and subterfuge. Far easier.’

39

Thursday Morning

Section 6

The Ark

Sam did have a chance of sex with Yasmine this morning, before he became a secret undercover espionaging subterfuging inter-fleeting rogue spy-master techy genius, former airlock worker and all-round awesome hacker.

Unfortunately, it was not quite how he imagined his first time with Yasmine would take place, and nor did it actually happen. Again.

It started when Yasmine took a call while she was kneeling in front of her own 3-D reflection and applying make-up.

‘Morning, Shitface. How’s Defective Dufont today?’ Penny asked, winding her way through Neon City towards Abdul’s office.

‘Morning, Fucknugget. Hey, guess who I bumped into last night? Alena Two Eyes. She’s getting me and Sun in to sniff about.’

‘You’re unbelievable. You are the last person I ever expected to be trying to sort Abdul’s shit out. Where are you anyway?’

‘Visitor room in the hub. More commonly known as the complete shithole. The room I mean, not the hub, and Sam’s in the shower, which he hacked because he’s awesome.’

‘Ah, finally some alone time,’ Penny said with a knowing wink before Yasmine moved her holo feed to show Sun snoring on the inflatable sofa behind her. ‘Oh dear. I’m guessing you two still haven’t porked then.’

‘Porked? Eeew. But no, we haven’t.’

‘Just go in the shower.’

‘I’m not going in the shower. Sun’s here.’

‘So? She’s passed out. Just run in, give him a kiss and a grope then bend over . . .’

‘Jesus, Penny. You not getting any either or something?’

‘Ha! No. Never. But I did see Kristi Carter naked this morning. We got super drunk in the Hocus last night and she ended up staying at mine. And guess who she’s banging?’

‘Er . . . Colin?’

‘Why would she be banging Colin? He’s married.’

‘They’re separated. Sam told me. He’s bunking in with Pash and his husband.’

‘I never knew this,’ Penny said with a tone of sudden enlightenment. ‘But no, Kristi is getting it on with Zhang. But she doesn’t know I know. Anyway. Talking of sex, get in that shower before your boyfriend explodes.’

‘He’s fine.’

‘Yassy, I love you to bits, but you’ve got Sun with you who is very attractive and very flirty.’

‘Sam wouldn’t.’

‘Sam’s the nicest guy ever, but he’s still a guy, Yassy. He has a penis. And right now, that penis ain’t getting any action from his insanely hot girlfriend while they’re hanging out with another—’

‘Okay, I get it,’ Yasmine said, glancing back at Sun.

‘Listen, I know you’ve turned back into a virgin, but just do it,’ Penny said, while striding into Abdul’s office and straight to the coffee machine. ‘Honestly, run into the bathroom, strip off and be like take me right now, do it to me, Pretty Boy. Huh. Huh. Huh. Take me hard and take me fast . . . Good lord. I’m not gay but I think seeing Kristi Carter in my shower this morning has done something to me . . . Anyone want a coffee?’

‘I would love a coffee, thank you, Penny.’

‘Righto,’ Penny said as she finally became very aware of the polite female voice she just heard. ‘What the shit! Helga?’

‘Helga?’ Yasmine asked.

‘Gotta go,’ Penny said, swiping at Yasmine’s face in a way that did nothing until Colin reached over to cut the call.

‘Hello, Penny,’ Helga said politely as Abdul walked in carrying a tray of synth rolls. ‘Ah, breakfast is served.’

‘What’s got into you?’ Abdul asked at the look on Penny’s face.

‘Catching flies there, sweetie,’ Clara said, gently closing Penny’s open mouth. ‘Who wants a coffee?’

‘Penny was making it,’ Colin said.

‘I think Penny has been rendered somewhat silent,’ Helga said.

‘I think so,’ Penny said, shaking her head and offering a smile as she walked over to Helga with her hand out. ‘Vice-Captain. But may I ask as to the nature of your visit this morning?’

‘Lads, we’ll head next door,’ Colin said.

‘Colin, stay behind,’ Abdul said. ‘Not a word about the code,’ he whispered.

‘I’m just going to grab that coffee,’ Penny said, heading back to the machine.

‘Not a word about the code,’ Abdul whispered, falling in at her side to help.

‘Thank you, Penny,’ Helga said, taking the drink as she studied Abdul’s PA. A tall black woman with closely cropped afro hair. An elegance about her. Sharp too, and she clearly runs the show here from the way everyone interacts with her. ‘Abdul, would you mind if I explain the events to Penny? And forgive me being direct but we’re hitting the ground running. Let me explain why I am here . . .’

* * *

While that conversation got underway, Yasmine thought about what Penny said. That Sam has a penis, and that men need to put their penises in things otherwise they explode. And right there, on that sofa, was someone not only flirty and attractive but also decidedly more reckless than Yasmine. Which was saying something.

Penny’s jokey comments took root and a weird panic set in as Yasmine berated herself for taking Sam for granted and not thinking about his needs. Not needs. Desires. Maybe not desires. Whatever. The poor guy. Penny was right. She just had to get over her fears and make it happen.

She sucked air in, summoning resolve, and shuffled on her knees to poke Sun in the face, looking for any sign that she might wake up, before rushing to open the bathroom door as clouds of steam billowed out. But steam was good. Steam made it steamy, so she ran in.

‘Whoa!’ Sam said, covering his groin. ‘I’m in the shower. What are you doing?!’

‘Sex! Shush,’ she said, ripping her clothes off in a way she hoped was sexy before running in to lick Sam’s cheek and ear while prodding, poking, squeezing and groping his chest and bum before she spun about and bent over. ‘Quick. Before she wakes up.’

‘What the fuck!’

‘Just put it in.’

‘What?’

‘In my vagina.’

‘What?!’ Sam gibbered.

‘Which one of you fuckers kept poking me?’ Sun asked, lurching into the bathroom a second before she puked last night’s synth vodka over the floor.

‘Right. That’s fucked then,’ Yasmine snapped, grabbing her clothes. ‘I tried, Sam. Remember that. I really tried.’

* * *

A short while later and Yasmine slapped the blister pack of pills down on the table in the diner and sat down between them.

‘Sorry,’ A very hungover Sun mumbled while popping two pills out to swallow down with coffee. ‘But maybe try locking the door next time?’

‘Anyway,’ Yasmine said. ‘We have a busy day. I spoke to Alena last night. She’s got us on payroll, so we need to get moving.’

‘Who?’ Sun asked. ‘Oh, the lady with the eyes,’ she added, pointing her fingers out in different directions.

Yasmine inhaled slowly. ‘I’ll tell you on the way . . .’

Sam watched them go and sat in silence, picturing Yasmine’s bottom in the shower and thinking that, actually, once he’d gotten over the surprise of being licked and poked, he would have quite liked to have sex.

Then he took a call from Janey who was also on a call to Penny who was in Abdul’s office with lots of people, one of which was Helga Sveinsson. But Sam didn’t grasp that initially, what with the whole shower sex thing on his mind and also the fact that everyone was talking at the same time.

‘Guys. Bigger picture here,’ Penny called out while Sam rubbed his face to wake up. ‘We sold Abdul to the people up top. We got him elected. It’s a switcheroo. Now we sell the VC to the Elfors. What do you think?’

Sam wasn’t entirely sure what a VC was, or why Janey had called him, so he yawned and started opening his screens to look at matrix things for Yasmine.

‘Okay, let’s get a stats check and see where we’re at,’ Penny said. ‘Sam?’

Sam nodded and opened another screen while yawning and blinking moisture from his eyes.

‘I must say, Abdul, this is all very impressive,’ Helga said as Sam snapped fully awake.

‘Fuck me! What the shit?’ he said, sitting upright. ‘We’re being countered. There’s memes flying about everywhere.’

He detached images from his feed: crudely made cartoons with poor artwork, but Abdul was clear from his bald head and beard. His eyes were made to look narrowed and mean, and he was hunched over too. One static frame showed him selling a Taser pistol to a kid. Another showed Abdul throwing a bomb into the guard station. In another, Abdul was running from the Finance offices with his arms full of the C symbol for credits and blood dripping from his hands.

‘They’ve got bots on them.’ Sam said, typing fast to open more feeds. ‘More than us, too. At least twenty thousand. Cheeky fucking fuckers. I’m not having this.’

‘He’s my IT guy,’ Abdul explained to Helga. ‘Sam, easy with the language.’

‘Yeah, but really? All that effort yesterday with my Beaky adverts for some dick to try and copy me. And they’re shit, too. A blind kid could have done better.’

‘Well, at least I know who Pretty Boy is now,’ Helga said, to a few groans in the room.

‘Sorry, what? Oh my god, Helga Sveinsson!’ he said, shooting to his feet with something like a salute.

‘Sit down, Sam,’ Helga said. ‘How do you prefer to be addressed?’

‘Er, just in like trousers and a top normally.’

‘He’s actually a genius,’ Penny told Helga.

‘They normally are. Sam, what can you do to counter?’ Helga asked.

‘I’ll blow his bots for a start. They’re very basic. There’s no linking, no depth, no cohesion.’

‘Blow the bots,’ Helga ordered. ‘Have you got an algorithm set up to identify pro-Abdul and pro-Elfor posts yet?’

‘Yep. I mean, yep, er . . . ma’am? Oh, VC! I get it now. Vice-Captain. I was like, what the hell are they on about?’

‘Give me an idea on the flow of those averages please, Sam,’ Helga asked.

‘Okay. We spiked more than 80% but we’re down to 64%.’

‘Yes!’ Penny said, high-fiving Clara.

‘Great enthusiasm, but this will get harder before it gets better,’ Helga called, bringing the murmurings down. ‘Sam, blow the bots. Penny, get hold of Kristi Carter and arrange an interview.’

‘Will do,’ Penny said, making the call.

‘Penny!’ Kristi shouted into the feed as she ran through the retail zone on Level 30. ‘I just heard . . . I’m so sorry.’

‘Heard what?’ Penny asked as everyone in the office looked over.

‘The toilets,’ Kristi gasped, glancing into the holo call. ‘Stella Yeah Yeah’s body has just been found. She’s been murdered . . .’

40

Thursday Morning

The Hub, Section 6

The Ark

‘Sorry!’ Yasmine says, rushing into an alley tucked up at the side of the main walkway.

‘I almost gave up,’ Alena says. ‘I wasn’t sure you were still up for it. Especially after the night you had,’ she adds with a look to Sun, who just looks blank. ‘The competition? Hmm, let me see . . . how would you determine who has the best men from the Bustees, the Elfors and the Hutongs?’

‘Oh god. No. I didn’t,’ Sun groans.

‘All three. Suhky, Mikhail and Liu. Three big kisses.’

‘Thank fuck for that,’ Sun says with a gasp. ‘I thought I’d slept with them all or something.’

‘What the fuck?’ Yasmine says in alarm.

‘I know, right. Relief or what,’ Sun says earnestly. ‘But that does explain the sore throat.’

‘Anyway, ladies. Wristbands please,’ Alena says, scanning their systems. ‘Done. You’re now on payroll as subbies. That gets you inside, but after that you’re on your own and I do not know you. Good luck.’ She walks off, disappearing into the bustle of the hub as Yasmine turns on Sun.

‘What the fuck was that?’

‘What?’

‘You! Kissing three guys.’

‘So? Like you’ve never kissed a few guys in a bar before.’

‘No. I haven’t,’ Yasmine says, setting off into the walkway.

‘I don’t know! I was drunk – and seriously, my throat is really sore. I might need a dose of Clap-Be-Gone.’

‘Clap-Be-Gone gives you the shits. Clap-Get-Rid is better.’

‘Yeah? Did you learn that from your days as a hooker before Sam bought you?’

‘You listen to me,’ Yasmine snaps, grabbing Sun’s arm. ‘My mom was a hooker so one more word and you can forget this whole thing.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Honestly, I’m really sorry,’ Sun says, staring at Yasmine. ‘Friends again? What’s that look for? Okay, not friends. Like er . . . I know! You’re like the old grand master passing on her secrets to the younger more attractive protégée who can’t keep her gob shut. But it’s cool though. You look really good for your age. And, like, your boobs aren’t sagging or anything from what I saw in the shower before I puked on you.’

‘I’m thirty, Sun.’

‘I know, right. Ah gotcha, you didn’t mean . . . Yeah, thirty is young. But you do have a grey hair. Want me to pluck it out?’

‘Ow! My god you’re the most annoying person ever.’

‘I know. My mom says that,’ Sun says with a blast of air and roll of her eyes like what can you do? ‘Have you got grey pubes yet?’

‘Jesus. I’m going in,’ Yasmine says, setting off.

‘Let’s do this!’ Sun says, rushing after her.

‘Let me do the talking.’

‘Subbies?’ the guard asks, cutting her off while waggling a scanner over their wrists. ‘You’re late. Get inside.’

‘Where do we go?’ Yasmine asks.

He leads them inside to a huge section filled with anti-grav carts and wheeled cages being moved about by people in red coveralls. Supervisors with virtual clipboards rushing from cart to cart. Everyone looking harassed and rushed, and Yasmine’s initial worries about standing out fade away at the sight of hundreds of people inside the enormous hanger.

‘Pablo!’ the guard yells. ‘Two more.’

‘Subbies?’ Pablo asks, closing in. ‘You’re late! You’ve missed orientation – see that door? Get inside, get uniforms and get straight back to me. And pick your feet up! You’re not paid to walk.’

They rush off to the door and head inside to a cramped office full of people frantically pulling red coveralls on.

‘Subbies?’ a woman asks, seeing Yasmine and Sun come in. ‘You’re late, you’ve missed orientation.’

‘Sorry, we—’ Yasmine starts to say as the woman flings sets of red coveralls at them.

‘Get them on. Don’t touch any carts unless told and don’t be seen messing on your interfaces. You’re here to work. You’ll get breaks if we get time. Can you both speak and read English? Yes. Nod. Speak. Say something.’

‘Yes,’ Sun and Yasmine say together while tugging their coveralls on. ‘And Chinese.’

‘WENG! These two are for you. Bilingual. Chinese and English. That’s Weng, you’re on her team—’

‘Hey!’ A Chinese woman shouts over. ‘Bilingual?’

‘Er, yeah we both are.’

‘Yes! Finally,’ she says, motioning them to go after her. ‘Do you know anything about the new matrix? Basically, it’s a new system some utter thundercunt switched on without stress-testing, and now every department in the sector is being sent every other department’s crap, which we need to process manually. Why the hell are two bilingual women working as subbies anyway? You Hutongs or something?’

‘Hutongs,’ Sun says.

‘Elfor,’ Yasmine says.

‘Figures,’ Weng says with a black look. ‘Who else in the fleet grows up speaking languages? Hutongs, Elfors and Bustees. That’s who. Are we qualified with it? Are we fuck. Are we paid shit? Yes, we are. But hey. Let’s keep the fleet fed and moving. Ignore me. I’m stressed.’

‘Yeah sure,’ Yasmine says, looking about. ‘Is this whole place just for the syndicated supply networks? It’s huge.’

‘Yup. And, to make it even more fun, some of the big chains are now sending stock through us too. Whoop-de-fucking-do . . . One each,’ she says, plucking two virtual clipboards from a holo stack to slide through the air at Sun and Yasmine. ‘Honestly, girls. It’s not rocket science. That’s a whole different department, but hey, I bet we’re getting their shit too. Okay, look down the lists. Can you read them?’

‘Er . . . yeah,’ Yasmine says, glancing at the screen as Sun does the same.

‘Fun, eh?’ Weng laughs. ‘Numbers and words. Some in English. Some in Chinese because our glorious little section of hell sends to the Beijing. Scan that pile of crap coming off the carts and match it to the manifests on your lists. If it’s ours then stack it in the cages over there. If it’s not ours then stack the returns there. The cage pullers will take the full cages and replace with empty ones. Smaller stuff goes in the big sacks. Got it? Simple? Filled with an impending sense of doom yet? Ha! You will be. Get to it.’

41

Thursday

Helga’s Office

The Humility

‘Pen, I’ve got Janey on a call,’ Clara says, doing what she can to help Penny work as PA to both Abdul and Helga. Too many things happening at once. Stella is dead. The protest is getting bigger. The backlash from Helga coming out as pro-Elfor has whipped everyone up again, and the mood in the Elfors is getting worse by the hour.

‘Have you seen this?’ Janey says, moving the view to show a score of protesters setting up opposite the entrance to the café’s walkway. ‘We need security. We’ve got Dil and his mates facing them off and it’s getting heated.’

‘We’ll have to shut it,’ Penny says.

‘Do not shut that café,’ Helga says, striding over from her desk. ‘You’ll be sending a signal that the other side can beat us. In fact, we’ll make the café our new base of operations and have some of this famous porridge and jam.’

* * *

It’s a deft move and Penny inwardly gives a nod of respect because moving base to set up in the café draws all of the press and leaves Jean Schrieber fuming at the sudden lack of attention.

‘Honestly, I haven’t seen anything like this since the last time I saw something like this,’ Kristi says into camera as Rona rolls her eyes, not giving a shit that Kristi is losing the plot. ‘Vice-Captain Helga Sveinsson is now setting up in Sven’s Eatery, that being home to Nordic Masterchef Sven Carlson and his famous porridge and jam. Which I have both tried and very much enjoyed. Which is not a paid advert. Just my opinion. I am sure there are plenty of other places that sell porridge. Unless you’re an Elforist. In which case you can’t go in them because you’ll probably get lynched.’

‘KRISTI!’ Kasim shouts into her ear as she beams a huge smile into the camera and cocks her head over.

‘Sorry folks, my studio manager is shouting my name. Go ahead, Kasim?’

‘Cut to Teddy. Fuck me. What is wrong with you?’

‘And we’re cutting to Teddy, which is reporter speak for back to the studio but hey, stay tuned folks and we’ll bring you more on this ever-developing story on board the worldshit Humility.’

‘You just said shit, Kristi,’ Kasim shouts. ‘You said shit live on air! Take a fucking break and sort your head out. Jesus wept . . .’

‘Where are you going?’ Rona asks as Kristi walks off.

‘Toilet,’ Kristi calls, striding through the bedlam of other reporters doing pieces to camera, and she even pauses to wink and offer a thumbs up over Johnny Johnson’s shoulder as he cuts off in surprise and watches her walk over to the café.

‘No reporters, Kristi. Sorry,’ Pasha says with an awkward wince.

‘I just need the toilet,’ she says, smiling sweetly and patting him on the chest as she slides past his bulk.

‘No reporters!’ Colin says.

‘Gotcha,’ Kristi says, beaming another smile. ‘I just need the toilet. Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Penny says, waving a hand at Colin. ‘She’s fine.’

‘You’re the best,’ Kristi says, firing pistol fingers at Penny.

‘You okay, Kristi?’

‘Absolutely!’ Kristi says, striding in and locking the door before slamming back against the wall, banging her head and telling herself to get a grip. She swipes her band, making a call. ‘I’m losing the plot,’ she says the second it connects.

‘What’s up?’ Zhang asks, sitting at a table in the diner and staring over at Yasmine’s hotel, wondering why the hell he hasn’t seen anyone yet. He knows Penny and Clara are back on the Humility from what Kristi said last night, but she’s not mentioned Yasmine or Sam, which suggests they’re both still here on the Beijing. The only problem is he hasn’t seen them for ages now and he sure as shit can’t ask Kristi if she knows anything.

‘Where are you?’ Kristi asks.

‘In a diner, why?’

‘Go in the toilet. We need to talk.’

‘Nobody can hear you,’ he says, making a show of checking about.

‘Go in the toilet!’

‘Okay. I’m going,’ he says, crossing the room to head inside the toilet while staring in concern at the harassed look on her face. ‘You okay?’

‘No! I just said shit live on air and I’m gabbling and saying stupid things. I hate this ship. I hate it and my boobs are getting sore.’

‘What?’

‘My boobs bounce when I run. That’s why Kasim wants me jogging all over the place and I’m not allowed a sports bra. It’s in my contract.’

‘Are you being serious? Fuck him. Just buy one.’

‘I wish,’ she says with a big sigh. ‘I’m losing the plot.’

‘Can’t you take a break and go home?’

She snorts a humourless laugh, closing her eyes and shaking her head. ‘I live in hotel cabins going from clusterfuck to clusterfuck with an assistant who hates me.’

‘Can you call your family? Where are they? Where did you grow up? What about friends?’ he asks in that way that makes it seem like he’s genuinely interested. Like she’s the only person in the whole fleet. Another moment in time. Emotions yo-yoing as she searches for a meaning to life. For something other than a crisis to cover. But it’s Zhang Woo. The cop who found Mahatma who she then fucked.

‘What am I doing?’ she whispers.

‘You’re doing okay, Kristi. You’ll be okay, I promise. You soak up a lot of raw emotions in your job. Same as mine. It gets too much sometimes. You just need to get through this and take a time-out. You’re okay. Everything will be okay.’

She closes her eyes, listening to his deep voice, thinking she never needed anyone to tell her things will be okay before. Certainly not a man. But she takes it willingly. Nodding as he speaks. Finding strength inside.

‘You good?’ he asks.

‘I’m good,’ she whispers. Summoning energy to nod. ‘I’m okay. Thank you. I mean that, too.’

‘It’s fine. Call me anytime, and hey, listen, it’s just a suggestion but use my cabin if you want. I mean, my coffee machine is crap but . . . I don’t know, if you need a change from a hotel. Hey, don’t cry. I’m sorry. Was that a dumb thing to say?’

‘No,’ she whimpers, wiping her eyes. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. Stop being nice. Go back to being a prick so I can hate you.’

‘Sure, er . . . Tell me about the bouncy boobs then?’

She smiles at him through the tears. ‘Can I really use your cabin?’

‘No. Fuck off.’

She laughs again, just a chuckle but enough to drive the weird feelings away. ‘I need to get back.’

‘Sure. Go bounce those boobs. Or just buy a sports bra like a normal person. Damn,’ he adds, shaking his head.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Boob talk is not good. You go.’

‘Does it set you off?’

‘Seriously?’ he asks, giving her a look as she snorts another laugh.

‘Okay. Stupid question. How do you get through the day with it?’

‘I don’t. It’s just there. Like all the time. But I’m going to get help. When I get home. I’ll get help. I don’t want this anymore.’

He means it too. She can see it in his eyes, and she thinks back to beating his face until it bled. ‘I’m sorry I hit you.’

‘You know what? I had that coming for a long time. What the fuck are you doing?’ he asks as she reaches down to pull her skirt up. ‘Kristi?’

‘Does it help? I don’t know. Does it make it worse? Is it like a fix? Is that it? You can get it from me if it helps. I mean, we fucked already, right?’

‘Holy shit,’ he says, trying to turn his head as she unfastens her blouse.

‘You said I was safe for you.’

She is. She is safe. Zhang doesn’t know why, and god only knows she shouldn’t be, but she is. The klaxon doesn’t sound with her, and what happens next should be seedy. And it is. Really seedy. But it does the job and a short while later she exits the toilet fanning her face and figuring that Zhang is right, because that sure as hell gives a release to the pressure inside. Besides, it’s just on the right side of being completely wrong as to be sordidly wonderful.

‘Big shit, was it?’ Dorka asks, striding by with armfuls of bowls as Kristi blanches.

‘Are you okay?’ Penny asks, walking over with a look of concern.

‘Yep. All good. Just needed a lady moment.’

‘Sure,’ Penny says, figuring a lady moment is posh talk for having a poo. ‘Er, anyway, we’re going down to the Elfors with Helga for an official visit. I thought you might want to join us and cover it?’

42

Thursday Morning

Section 6

The Ark

‘Yasmine, it’s me. Can you talk?’ Sam asks.

‘We can’t talk but we can listen,’ Yasmine says, turning her head to reply in the midst of the chaos of the enormous sorting area.

‘I’ve been looking into this matrix thing. Basically, they had a fully functioning system that was working fine but they changed it to this new system without any testing. Literally turned the old one off and turned the new one on.’

‘We know this, Sam,’ Yasmine murmurs. ‘Get to the point.’

‘There is no point. That’s the point of what I was trying to say.’

‘What the fuck?’ Sun mutters.

‘Er, that’s it really. Old one off. New one on. No training. No build up and no point to the new matrix. People on the Ark are saying there are hundreds of other failing systems so why bother with something that was functioning? But from what I can see it’s being fixed at source, as in within Section 6.’

‘Incoming,’ Sun coughs into her hand as Yasmine snaps her head up to see Weng striding over.

‘How’s it going, ladies?’ Weng asks.

‘Hey, we’re on it,’ Yasmine says, offering a smile. ‘But listen, I did have an idea.’

‘You’re not paid to think!’ Weng says with a laugh, waving Yasmine to go on.

‘The carts are coming in and just dumping their stock. But if we scan the cart manifest and match it to our orders then we can just take what we need from the cart and send the rest away.’

‘Great idea but we’re doing it the old-fashioned way with lots of elbow grease until somebody makes a decision to put the old system back on. Anyway. Back to it! Quell that outbreak of intellectual thought and be a robot.’

She heads off as Yasmine looks at the growing mountain of boxes and crates coming off the carts waiting to be scanned.

‘I thought you said to keep our heads down,’ Sun says. ‘Doesn’t asking questions make us stand out?’

‘Just testing the waters,’ Yasmine replies. ‘What’s through there?’ she asks Sun, while looking at the doors set in the back wall where the filled cages get dragged.

‘Not sure, but one of the cage-puller guys keeps smiling at me. Want me to find out?’

‘I don’t know. Can you be subtle?’

‘I will. I promise,’ Sun says, about to step away before darting in to kiss Yasmine’s cheek.

‘What the fuck?’

‘That was for the stupid comment I made earlier,’ Sun says, poking her tongue out as Yasmine turns away, trying to hide her smile.

Sun goes back to work, keeping an eye out for the cage-puller as he comes out of the door again. Chinese or maybe mixed-race Chinese. He clocks her looking over and smiles.

You look hot, she mouths in English. He frowns back. She rolls her eyes, dumps her crates and walks over to him. ‘I said you look hot,’ she says in Mandarin.

‘Oh, I thought you had a bug in your mouth or something.’

‘I’d puke if I had a bug. What’s through there? Is that your secret hiding place?’

‘Maybe,’ he says with a shy grin. ‘Why? Do you need to hide?’

‘I do. This guy keeps checking me out.’

‘Yeah? Which guy?’

‘He’s about your height, your build and he looks like you.’

He smiles at the joke with a blush in his cheeks. ‘It’s just a storage area . . . I’ll show you.’

‘You sure?’

They head in through the nearest door and along a wide corridor, feeding into another hangar-style area similar in size to the one she just left. Lines painted on the floor run from the doors to set areas where the cages are dragged and stacked.

‘That’s it,’ he says, as though it’s an anti-climax for her.

‘What are the lines for?’ she asks.

‘Our Beijing stuff goes along our lines to our area. See? Then another team working on the other side pull them into the tunnels then onto the service elevators for the docking ports.’

‘Can we see that? Honestly, I’m like such a nerd about all this stuff.’

‘It’s a secure area,’ he says, with a crestfallen look.

‘Sun! Stop flirting with my cage pullers,’ Weng shouts from the door, flapping her hands out. ‘This is why boys and girls shouldn’t work together.’

‘Oops,’ Sun says, pulling a face as she winks at the cage puller and runs back. ‘Sorry! He was kinda cute.’

‘You okay?’ Yasmine asks when Sun runs back over. ‘What did you see?’

‘It’s just a storage room. The cages get taken into something called the tunnels, then to service elevators down to the ports, but the guy said it’s a secure area.’

‘Okay. Good work. Well done,’ Yasmine says as Sun beams a huge grin.

‘First compliment from the old grand master . . .’

‘I’m thirty!’ Yasmine says, while trying to figure out how the hell she’s going to blag her way into a secure area – but that’s the fun of the game. Figuring it out. Finding a way. A glint in her eye and a fire in her belly and right now, Yasmine wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

43

Thursday

The Six Bar and Eatery

The Ark

‘Okey-dokey, Beaky. Matrix subterfuge hacking espionage covert ops is done,’ Sam says to his beaker of coffee, sitting at his table at the back of the Six Bar and Eatery. ‘What’s next?’

‘Say, Sam. Why don’t you look on your list?’ Beaky says in his high-pitched voice.

‘That is a very good idea, Beaky,’ Sam says to his beaker of coffee while pulling his virtual list up.

1, Research the Matrix. (Done)

2, Blow the bots.

3, Make new pro-Elfor signs for the café.

4, Make new Beaky adverts.

5, Be on standby as an awesome hacker government covert secret genius.

6, If Yasmine runs into the shower again, don’t question it.

7, Wait for Penny or Yasmine or Janey to add another squidzillion jobs to the virtual tasking board.

Helga told him to blow the bots, so he starts getting ready to flag them up to the social network site owners and admins. They’ll see the pattern and how the fake accounts are all linked and kill the lot. Job done. Bots blown, then he can get the new café adverts done. Penny and Janey want nice big pro-Elfor signs so the whole fleet can see the café is making a stand against tyranny and hate, while also trying to flog porridge and jam because all credits are good credits, no questions asked.

He works away, humming to himself and already thinking ahead to making new adverts. The Nazi one was okay, and people seem to love it, but it’s not hitting the right spot for Sam. It’s not getting the message inside across and he knows he can do better.

He creates the report for the bots and makes ready to send it in, but something stills his hand.

Creating bots isn’t hard. It’s just time consuming, and he did plan to create more, but there’s twenty thousand of them right there. Maybe he shouldn’t blow them. Maybe he should steal them instead. That would instantly boost his side to thirty thousand, which is far easier than making new ones.

Should he do that? It seems an obvious thing to do. Why wouldn’t he do that? Stuff it. He’ll nick them.

* * *

Five thousand miles away someone else stares at a bank of screens. His wild hair now filthy from days of sweating, with booze and drugs leaking from his pores, his face bloated and patchy. His elbows rest on the table, hands steepled. ‘Come on,’ he whispers.

‘This is not what we said,’ Karen Big Feet says, glaring over the table at him. ‘Those cartoons are shit. Do them again and make them properly, and he said the bots are weak. I don’t know what that means but fix it.’

‘It means, my dear,’ Osmosis says without looking at her, ‘That they’re not linked and they lack depth, which also means they are very obviously bots and I made the crap adverts so I would look crap. Which I am not. I am a genius. Now shush, let me focus.’

He stares at his screens. Waiting for it to happen. Knowing it will happen. Why wouldn’t it happen? Pretty Boy likes bots. So why not steal another 20,000? Osmosis knows he’ll do it because he knows Pretty Boy is Sam Gablinski. And he knows Sam Gablinski stood at an airlock for many years staring into space. He also knows Sam Gablinski’s life is suddenly filled with insanely hot Elfor babes, and so why would Sam Gablinski waste time making new bots when he can just steal twenty thousand crap ones and then go back to banging hot Elfor chicks?

And so he waits. Staring at the screens. Waiting for Sam to take the Trojan Horse he just gifted him.

* * *

Sam creates the code, readying to take the lot. And why not? It saves him a job and it’s not like he doesn’t have a squidzillion other things to do.

‘Boom, fuck you,’ he says, finishing the coding for the hostile capture of twenty thousand enemy bots which will be rounded up and re-conditioned to be on his side because this is war. ‘War, what is it good for?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ Beaky singsongs in his high-pitched voice.

‘Right, we are ready. Are you ready?’

‘I’m ready, Sam! You’re a genius.’

‘Aw, thanks, Beaky.’

‘Take those bots, Sam! Steal them all for the side of truth and justice.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Gee, what’s wrong, Sam? Are you being a pussy?’

‘I am a little bit, Beaky. I think Penny’s caution has rubbed off on me.’

‘Why? Whatever is wrong, Sam?’

‘Because, my happy little Beaky friend, they look like a Trojan Horse. That’s why.’

‘Gee. Dontcha think you’re being a little bit paranoid there, Sam?’

‘Probably. But it’s like there’s some nerd sitting at some screens just like we are waiting for me to rob his bots.’

* * *

‘Come on,’ Osmosis urges, staring his screens.

‘What the fuck?’ Karen snaps. ‘You’re just sitting there.’

‘I am engaging in war so I can have my own nightclub filled with wenches. So please be quiet and wait for him to steal our bots.’

* * *

‘Do it, Sam. Do it! Take those bots.’

‘I don’t know, Beaky. It’s just too easy . . . Look,’ Sam says, picking his beaker of coffee up. ‘See?’

‘Hmmm, I see what you mean, Sam. They do look ropey as fuck.’

‘Beaky, stop swearing.’

‘It’s hanging out with Yasmine, Sam. She makes all the objects swear.’

‘She certainly does, Beaky, she certainly does. Do you know what I think? I think if I take his bots they’ll end up taking my bots. Or, if he’s really good, he’ll bury some code and get into my system. But he’d have to be really good for that.’

‘Hacking a hacker.’

‘Exactly, Beaky. Hacking a hacker.’

* * *

‘. . . and my code is buried deep inside so that when he takes my bots I get into his system, and that, my dear . . . is how you hack a hacker,’ Osmosis says.

‘Call me dear one more time and I will remove your penis from your body. Stop the babbling. Do something.’

‘I am! What do you not get about what I said?’ Osmosis fires back, finally looking at her. ‘I’m baiting him with awful adverts that a blind child could do better and twenty thousand ropey bots. He takes the bait. I get his system. How is that not clear?’

‘Fine. So why isn’t he taking the bait then?’ Karen asks.

‘Duh. Because he’s a hacker and he’s not fucking stupid. That’s why. But he’s also been starved of sex his whole life so I’m hoping his dick starts thinking for him and he rushes.’

* * *

‘Gee, Sam. We do have a lot to do. You gotta do Yasmine’s work and hack the matrix, and Penny wants new adverts for the café.’

‘I know, Beaky. But it just doesn’t feel right. It’s too easy.’

‘You know what I think, Sam? I think just blow the bots and don’t steal them.’

‘Or,’ Sam says quietly. ‘We could do something else . . .’

A new wristband slapped on the table. Opened, hacked, and crammed full of crap ripped from the net to give it content. Thousands of files bulk-loaded in. Sam opens one of the files. A random report about how the Scandinavian ships manage their wastewater so much better than everyone else. Which isn’t new, as the Scandinavians were gloating about how good they are way before the planet got munched by a meteor. New code written, created and slid in. He then transfers the code to steal the bots over to the new wristband.

‘Ready, Beaky?’

‘Go, Sam! Let’s ruin this motherfucker.’

‘Language, Beaky . . . and boom, fuck you.’

* * *

‘Boom! Fuck you,’ Osmosis says, shooting his arms into the air. ‘He’s taken the bait and why has he taken the bait? Because I am a genius and he’s too busy poking his willy in that incredibly hot girlfriend of his.’

‘Yassy’s not hot,’ Karen says. ‘Average at best.’

‘Sorry. I can’t hear you over this roaring crowd,’ Osmosis says, cupping a hand to his ear.

‘Whatever. What’s next?’ Karen asks, clicking her fingers to get him back and focussing.

‘Next, my dear – I mean, Karen. Don’t remove my penis, please. But next is we slip into his system.’ He smiles as he starts typing to activate the secret code buried within the bots, which then activates the secret code buried within the wastewater report, which finds Osmosis’s code, kicks it in the bollocks, steals its identification and robs its house. ‘Ah, crap.’

‘What now?’ Karen asks, rolling her eyes at him.

‘I think we’ve been hacked.’

A huge voice booms out from Osmosis’s system: I AM A HACKING CUNT. Deep and loud with stars cascading up and away, filling the cabin with glittering flashes. The words Dumb Shit shining in the air with a huge arrow pointing at Osmosis who stares up and bursts out laughing as a cacophony of noise blares out. Drumbeats going fast but overlapping each other. Screeching synth sounds and more stars shooting out.

‘Turn that off!’ Dmitri roars, running naked into room at being woken by the awful noise.

‘KILL THE WIZARDS!’ Mad Eyes Ken runs in to punch at the stars as though they’re real.

‘I told you,’ Osmosis shouts to Karen. ‘He’s not stupid.’

‘Turn it off,’ Dmitri roars out as Osmosis leans over to hit his kill switch. Which does absolutely nothing.

‘Oh I see. Like that, is it?’ He pulls his wristband off and slaps it on the table before looking about and spotting a flexi-pipe propped against a wall. He picks it up, hefting it a few times and walks back to slam it down on the wristband, missing completely and jarring his wrist with a yelp.

‘Jesus,’ Karen says, rubbing her temples as Dmitri runs off and comes back with two more flexi-pipes, one for him and one for Mad Eyes as they join Osmosis battering the wristband on the table. Dmitri’s dick flapping about, Mad Eyes frothing at the mouth and Osmosis still not quite getting how a flexi-pipe works.

Karen moves away, shaking her head as the table is smashed to bits with none of them actually hitting the band.

She shares a look with Simon. He shrugs and silently passes her a voltage stick. She turns it up high, walks over and jabs the band with sparks and blue arcs of light crackling at the end. A second or two later and the band dies, plunging them into a weird silence with Dmitri, Mad Eyes and Osmosis all heaving for air as Guphy lifts one leg while sleeping on an armchair and farts.

‘Okay. So that didn’t quite work,’ Osmosis says, pumped up from using real physical, albeit very inept, violence. ‘I need another band. And coffee. Lots of coffee. Pretty Boy just declared war – fuck him. He’s not the only one banging hot Elfor chicks.’

‘Say that again and I will fucking kill you,’ Dmitri says, stalking at Osmosis with a flash of pure rage in his eyes.

‘Dmitri!’ Karen yells, running between them as Dmitri looks ready to commit murder. ‘He doesn’t mean it. It’s cool. Go and get dressed. You’ll get her. I promise . . .’

‘You tell that Pretty Boy I’m coming for him,’ Dmitri says.

44

Thursday

Section 6

The Ark

‘Jesus, you’re in a right mess,’ Sun says, walking over to Yasmine and the mounds of goods intended for the Beijing stacked everywhere. ‘They’re all over the place. That’s why the cages are all backed up. They’re having to sort through this mess. You need to stack them as per the manifest so the cage pullers can just load and go.’

‘Oh my god, you are so Chinese,’ Yasmine says.

‘Er. Racist much?’

‘I did it on purpose, you dumb shit. Hey!’ Yasmine calls out, flapping her hands to the guys filling the cages. ‘I’m out of space.’

‘Fucking stack them properly then,’ one of them yells back.

‘We need them ready for the cages,’ another says. ‘We’re having to go through them. Jesus. Fucking subbies.’

‘Ah shit, sorry lads, my bad,’ Yasmine says with a rueful expression. ‘I’ll give you a hand to clear it yeah? Is that cage ready to go in? I’ll do it. Grab a drink, dude. Honestly. I feel really bad.’ She nods at Sun to help her with the cage as the guy waves a sullen thanks and walks off for the water machine.

‘Oh my god, you’re an evil genius,’ Sun whispers.

They drag their cage through the door into the vast hanger and along the lines towards their defined section to a set of locked double doors. A scanner on the side. Yasmine checks about and hurries over to waggle her wrist but the scanner bleeps dully and flashes a red light. ‘Keep an eye out,’ she tells Sun while reaching up to press the ear gel as the doors swish open with two men almost running into Yasmine.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ one of them asks.

‘What do you think we’re doing?’ Yasmine asks. ‘We’re hiding from Weng. Duh.’

‘Cheeky shits,’ one of them says with a laugh, grabbing their cage to drag through.

‘Hey, can we hide in there for a few minutes?’ Sun asks, pointing through the doors.

‘Nope,’ the other one says.

‘Wow. You’re like the grumpy one then, are you?’ Yasmine says.

‘Yeah, I prefer that one,’ Sun says, pointing at the laughing one. ‘He’s our mate.’

‘Our manager’s about and I’m not getting a bollocking for letting two lazy subbies in, even if you are pretty.’

‘I’m prettier than her,’ Sun says instantly, earning a smile from the grumpy one. ‘Go on, admit it. I am.’

‘Pair of you fuck off back to work,’ he says, shaking his head with a chuckle as they stroll off.

‘How was that?’ Sun asks once they’re out of earshot. ‘Was that okay? I mean my approach with the humour and stuff.’

‘Wow, needy much? I’m joking, it was fine. Nice touch. You got them both smiling and diffused any suspicions.’

‘Yes! I’m nailing this. Right, what’s next?’ Sun asks.

‘Next is we wait for Weng to offer overtime because there is no way in hell they’ll clear all of this today.’

‘Okay,’ Sun says slowly, not quite getting it.

‘And she’ll sweeten it by saying we can take a paid break at which point everyone will rush off to get food which gives us a chance to get inside the secure area.’

‘What if she doesn’t?’ Sun asks as they walk back to their own side of the hangar.

‘Where have you two been?’ Weng shouts, marching towards them.

‘Dragging cages through,’ Yasmine says.

‘I know, I know. They told me,’ Weng says, waving a hand at them. ‘It’s fine. Anyway. You two up for earning a bit extra? Time and a third is going if you stay on and help this evening.’

‘Ooh, I dunno,’ Yasmine says.

‘Get off. Course you will,’ Weng says. ‘And I’ll even give you all a paid break. How’s that? Right come on! Back to work. Let’s crack this.’

She walks off as Yasmine winks and heads back to her mound, leaving Sun with a look of awe etched on her face.

‘Sam, it’s Yassy. We’ll be staying on late but there’s a security door we need to get through.’

‘Shout me when you’re in front of it so I can override the rejection ping.’

‘Cool. We’ll do that. You okay?’

‘I’m at war, Yasmine. And war is never okay.’

‘Right. Er, well, have fun with that. Laters.’

* * *

Sam was righteous in his victory after doing an Elfor drop on the hacker and so he celebrated by refilling Beaky with coffee, which Beaky didn’t seem to mind. Then he returned to his screens and looked upon his list of many things to do, and after concluding that he had researched the matrix and blown the bots he determined he now had to make some nifty new pro-Elfor adverts for Sven’s Eatery.

He set to work, telling his AI animation software to do new stuff. Like sexy stuff. New and sexy. Sexy and cool. Cool and awesome.

‘Don’t hold back, son,’ he said to Beaky. ‘That’s what Abdul said. He said don’t hold back.’

‘You go, Sam!’ Beaky said, urging him on.

Sam did indeed, go on. And no sooner than later he had it finished and delved into his systems to remote access the café interface and set about positioning his shiny new advert at the entrance to the walkway.

The advert then popped into being with shower of stars, and it was that shower of stars that made the waiting press all rush to start to filming, assuming it to be something new from Pretty Boy. It was also nice because Kristi Carter wasn’t there, which meant someone else got the scoop for a change.

‘Are you getting this?’ Johnny Johnson said to his camera and viewers. ‘It looks like a new piece from Pretty Boy, who it appears has chosen this landmark location to make another political statement . . . Let’s watch it live.’

The fleet did indeed watch it live as the stars cascaded out. But not as big and not as high as his normal adverts, because these were just for the café. As requested by Helga, via Penny and Janey. and put on his list of many things to do.

The stars faded away leaving a dull-looking empty bowl just hanging in space above the entrance to the café walkway. No motion. No sparkles. No glow. No anything. Black and white. No colour. Just an ordinary empty bowl that a stick-figure man happened upon while walking by, who then stopped and put his hands on his non-existent hips and shook his head to convey displeasure at finding such an empty bowl.

The stick-figure man then whistled and waved an arm to beckon more stick-figure men and women into the frame, who stared into the empty bowl while shaking their heads in displeasure.

The stick-figures set to work making porridge in vats and a sturdy frame to clamber up so they could pour their porridge into the big bowl while yet more fixed and placed letters and words in the air using ladders and pulleys.

A minute later and after a hive of activity it was done. The big bowl was full, and the words were hanging in the air. The frame was dismantled and taken away until that one solitary stick-figure man remained next to a hanging thread of rope. He reached up, gave it a tug and the whole scene came to life, from black and white to glorious 3-D colour with sparkles and stars shining bright. The porridge suddenly thick and creamy with steam wafting up. The black and white spoon now golden and shining as it dipped in and out of the porridge. The words above glowing 3-D.

Sven’s Eatery: Home of the famous Porridge and Jam

Creamy goodness for your Mouth

The stick-figure man scratched his head and conveyed that something still wasn’t quite right. An idea in mind, and he stamped his foot hard to make the last line of words blink into life.

Proudly Pro-Elfor

Sam, being absorbed in the creation of the work rather than the effect it had, then flexed his fingers while thinking about what he had to do next.

Ah, that was it. He needed to make some more Beaky adverts. He sat and thought for a bit, drank some coffee and then figured he’d have a look to see what else was trending. At which point he noticed some thundercunt had knocked Beaky’s Nazi advert from the number one trend. Sam didn’t much like the Nazi advert but still, losing the number one spot smarted, and so he looked to see who it was with a surge of competitive pride and found himself slightly flummoxed to see he was that thundercunt, and had knocked himself off the number one spot with his new café advert.

He suffered the same reaction as before, and panicked that he’d gone too far and done too much and that someone would tell him off, at which point he got a message from Sven telling him he was a genius and he loved it. Then another one from Penny saying Helga wanted to kiss him. Abdul also messaged and said well done and that he was proud of Sam, which made Sam feel a bit weird, because he’d grown up without a father and now this older man who he admired very much was saying he was proud of him. It even gave Sam a bit of a lump in his throat.

He then spent a few minutes wondering if Beaky would be jealous at not being number one anymore.

‘Are you jealous?’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ Beaky said in his high-pitched voice while folding imaginary skinny arms.

Now that was all very nice and interesting, but it wasn’t the war Sam had referred to when Yasmine called him. That war started when Sam received a message from an unknown sender.

You’re a duck.

That was it and Sam frowned, wondering what it meant as another message came in.

I meant dick. Not Duck. Fuck you.

Sam frowned again, because although the duck thing was explained it was still a rather mild insult and he thought maybe the sender should spend some time with Yasmine to gain a diploma in advanced level cussing.

However, Sam then felt the sting in the tail because he couldn’t respond to an unknown sender, at which point he got another message.

Haha. You can’t respond. Fuck you. Duck.

* * *

I meant dick again. Auto-correct is stuck on because some duck hacked me and I’m using a new band. Flick my life I meant duck. DICK!

Sam realised the sender was the person who’d tried to lure him with the Trojan Horse, and that was worrying because it meant the person had now hacked a message system.

You just realised I’m a proper hacker didn’t you.

Are you worried, Sam?

You should be . . .

Seeing his own name like that was creepy, but Sam remembered he got the name Pretty Boy from running through the Elfors with Yasmine. To be fair, it was a shit secret in the first place, but it still sent a chill down his spine, and the next message gained his full attention.

Check the trends. Hope you like it.

Sam blinked in surprise at seeing what appeared to be his own café advert climbing through the charts.

Except it wasn’t his advert. The last part had been changed. New words had been added labelling the stick-figures as Decent Hard-Working People just before a great swathe of new stick-figures labelled as Elforists ran in and started killing all the other stick-figures with a scene of savage violence that ended with new words fading into shot, dripping with blood.

Don’t let them up:

Seal the Elfors

‘Holy fuck,’ Sam said as his ear gel activated with Yasmine saying she was working overtime and something about secure doors. ‘You okay?’ she asked him.

‘I’m at war, Yasmine and war is never okay.’

‘Right. Er, well, have fun with that. Laters.’

Now check the news.

Another message comes in and he brings a news feed up showing the protesters at the café jeering noisily underneath holo feeds of his hacked café advert playing on a loop.

The same with the main protest at the stairwell, both sites freshly energised.

Keep watching, Pretty Boy.

Osmosis sits bolt upright after snorting a line of powders from the new table. Traces and deposits clinging to his nostril hair and upper lip. His eyes bulging wide for a second.

‘Let’s wage our war, brother hacker . . .’

He goes on the attack. Bringing music up. Loud and fast synth beats, hard and heavy. Into the AI animation software. Into the world of coding and nerdery where the geeks do dwell, waiting for their chance to run wild in the Elfors and snort drugs from the buttocks and breasts of buxom wenches amidst orgies of sexual debauchery. Osmosis has tasted that world now, and he likes it. He likes it a lot and he wants his promised nightclub in the new Neon City. He wants his own girls and his own kingdom to rule over, and so the motivation is there. The desire driving him on. ‘I need those access codes, Karen.’ He snaps the words out like he’s ordering one of the teenage assistants in his store.

Karen gives him a look while moving away to call the quiet man. Audio only. No video. She explains what she needs. A moment or two later he sends what she asked for. The ID access codes for some of the protesters’ wristbands and Osmosis whoops as he sends his first piece out and messages Sam.

And so it starts.

Sam reads the message and almost flinches at seeing new feeds popping up over the protesters.

Another rip of his own work. The Nazi advert taken over. He watches Beaky join the cartoon rally as the bowl, plate and chair push him away. A growing darkness to one side of the frame and a great swathe of black stick-figures charge into the rally, stabbing and butchering them apart with sadistic brutal violence before leaving the broken bodies lying in pools of blood and again the words fade in.

Don’t let them up:

Seal the Elfors

‘Fuck me,’ Sam mouths, wincing at the sight of it. It’s too much. Too brutal. It’s violence for the sake of violence, and his head turns again when another message comes in.

Keep watching.

Osmosis laughs at his own wonderful awesomeness and goes back to typing fast. ‘And another one . . . Haha, fuck you, airlock boy . . .’

Sam blinks again at a short clip taken from the Finance offices when the sprinklers activated. Another roar and the stick figures charge into frame, running through the corridor carrying bags of swag and stabbing other stick-figures that get in the way. One stick-figure at the front with a beard labelled as Abdul, but Sam spots how rushed it all looks, with the stick-figures moving through walls and solid objects which makes it seem cheap and poorly done. But it’s quick, and so the impact is there.

Another one appears showing Table-Lady from his very first proper piece and Sam watches with a sense of dread, guessing what’s about to happen. He’s right, and while Table-Lady looks down at Jean in the original footage, the side of the frame grows dark and the stick-figures run in and swarm all over her. Scaling her legs and running up over her body. Battering her with sticks and stabbing her with knives. Blood spurts out, thick and bright red. Table-Lady staggers back and slowly crumples to the floor as the stick-figures keep on attacking her while words once more fade in.

Protect your children:

Seal the Elfors

‘That’s very dark,’ Karen says, watching the news feeds showing the new clips popping up. She sees the reactions in the crowds too, even some of the protesters look a little unsure, that maybe this is too much and too violent. ‘Should we ease it back maybe?’ she asks.

‘War is messy, Karen. You need a stronger stomach,’ Osmosis says as Karen visualises smashing his face into the table. A call on her system. She swipes to answer. Audio only. No video.

‘Is it too much?’ she asks, thinking the call to be a rebuke.

‘No. Quite the contrary. In fact, I have an idea . . .’ The quiet man tells her what to do as Karen blows air through her cheeks.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ She cuts the call and tells Osmosis. He goes still for a second, listening intently and sets to work with fresh delight, before sending another message that travels at near-light speed and Sam’s head once more snaps over to read it.

Ready for the next one?

Sam watches in horror as the holo feeds change to show a crude scene of a stick-figure lady hanging in a noose.

Eye for an Eye? Or did Abdul kill her to stop the protest?

Don’t let them up

The impact is incendiary. The net lights up with reactions and this time the protesters do cheer.

How are you liking it, Pretty Boy? Are you having fun yet?

Sam reads the message and determines he is definitely not having fun. He’s not having fun at all, and that gets even worse when Penny calls him.

‘What the hell is going on?’ she asks, tucked up at the side of the guard station with Abdul and Janey.

‘I don’t know. It must be—’

‘Listen, Sam,’ Penny says. ‘Whoever is doing it knows Kristi’s about to film Helga’s visit to the Elfors. We need that coverage. Kristi’s already lost half her viewing figures.’

‘What can you do?’ Abdul asks.

‘Er . . .’ Sam says, trying to think.

‘I said this would bite us on the ass,’ Penny says, rubbing her forehead.

‘Is that Sam?’ Helga’s voice sounds out as she moves into the holo feed. ‘Sam, listen to me. You have three choices. One is to do nothing. Two is to put a fresh piece out and hope to drive attention away, or three is you go on the offensive. I say we attack,’ she adds as Abdul nods firmly.

‘You said not to get drawn in,’ Sam says.

‘I’m a politician, Sam. I change my view when it suits me. What can you do?’

‘Fuck! I don’t know. Er—’

‘Yes, you do. You are better than they are,’ Helga says.

‘Think,’ Abdul says, nodding at him. ‘You can do this. How would you fight back?’

‘I mean. I er . . . there’s one idea but it’s pretty extreme.’

‘Pretty Boy is an Elfor name, son,’ Abdul snaps, jabbing a finger. ‘You hear me. You’re an Elforist. We don’t get rolled. You do what it takes to drop that son of a puta.’

‘Okay,’ Sam says, nodding in response.

‘You’ve got this. I can see it in your eyes. Now sit up straight, grab your dick and piss all over them.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sam says, sitting up straight with a fresh look of determination.

The call cuts out, leaving Sam with that weird lump in his throat again and a renewed sense of pride surging inside.

He cricks his neck and turns back to his hacking screens with what he hopes is a steely look in his eyes. Thinking hard on his idea and how to counter. The temptation is there to fight back with an overwhelming show of force. That’s what Pretty Boy wants to do, and that’s the expectation, too. In fact, it feels like that is exactly what he is expected to do, at which point it will become two hackers having a squabble, with a tit-for-tat escalation. But then Abdul said he’s an Elforist and Elforist’s don’t get rolled. So he has to fight back and he has to be aggressive like an Elfor would be.

Except Elforists aren’t always aggressive. In fact, from what Sam has seen, most of them are actually really nice. And he was wrong about himself too – he can’t switch between being two different people because Pretty Boy and Sam have the same experiences. They’re drawing from the same thought processes and emotions, and that temptation to fight back with aggression starts clashing with Sam’s own gentle way of being. Sam isn’t aggressive like that. Sam’s way is different and his is a deeper level of thought. A deeper instinct and a deeper view, and this time he doesn’t snap his head over when the message comes in. Instead he turns slowly, and in so doing he conveys to himself that he is in control of this.

I’m going to own you.

Bold words and a bold statement. Dripping with aggression and threat, and designed to make him fight back. Taunting him. Goading him – and he smiles that easy smile of his and gets to work.

He starts by making the café interface his primary system, thereby allowing his hacking software to read the signals coming back, of which there are many and so it takes time. But that’s okay because the impact will be worth it, and all good things are worth waiting for.

He does the same with the wristband hidden behind the potted plant by the stairwell and has to weed through the multiple signals coming back until he finds the ones he needs: the signals from the wristbands showing his hacked advert.

He glances at the news feeds as he works, seeing the other side have put another clip out. A crude animation piece of a cabin with the door marked Mahatma Goudier and Abdul in stick-figure form, hunched over and evil looking. Holding a knife as he skulks up and quietly slips inside. A scream sounds out. Blood spatters against the window and Abdul exits, chuckling evilly and scuttling off. The same words fading in:

Seal the Elfors:

Don’t Let Them Up

But the impact is lessening. That’s the thing with trying to use shock in lieu of talent – it runs out and ceases to have meaning. It gets boring quickly. The same with anger and rage. They’re easy to draw from as they seem so strong, but they’re not. They are rash and weak.

All those thoughts whirl and spin and merge and mix as Sam works away, and because it takes a while, so the perception forms that Pretty Boy has no response to give. That he is drawing back from whatever this is. Disclaiming it. Disowning it. Moving on.

‘Guys, what’s happening?’ Kristi asks, walking over to Penny and the others at the side of the guard station. The crowds outside thick and angry, getting whipped up into a fury. ‘Listen, if we’re not going in then I’m heading back up.’

‘Just give us a minute,’ Penny says, not taking her eyes from the feeds of the other news agencies covering the protests.

‘For what?’ Kristi asks, stepping in closer, but she doesn’t need to ask what they’re waiting for. They’ve obviously tasked Pretty Boy to do something, except it’s not happening. ‘Guys? Maybe I should go.’

‘Just a minute,’ Penny says again.

‘My studio manager is going nuts. I’m sorry. I’ve got to call it. That’s the bigger story right now. Not here . . .’

The mood worsens in the café too, with the Elforists gathered by the entrance being provoked to violence.

‘SCUM!’

‘RATS!’

‘FUCK YOU!’

The protesters heckle and jeer and motion for the Elforists to come out. Itching for a fight, beckoning Dil and the others to come forward.

The Elforists do it, too. They start jostling, with dark energy brewing and festering, readying them for the fight that is about to come, as Sven steps from his café and puffs on his vape stick while leaning against the doorframe.

‘Lads, just wait,’ he calls in that gnarly, jaded-from-life way of his. Almost with a hint of boredom.

‘What for?’ Dil snaps, glaring at him.

‘For that,’ Sven says, winking at him as he points out with his vape stick.

It starts with the advert above the café walkway changing from the loop of stick-figures to a sudden shower of stars cascading out wide and high. Golds and silvers shimmering and glowing as every reporter and camera operator spins about to see it. All of them going live to film what is obviously going to be a response from Pretty Boy.

On level 37, Kristi brings her own camera up to film Helga and her team watching the feed live, and they too stare at the stars cascading out, but the protests keep going. Chanting louder. Jeering with more noise because Pretty Boy has only one feed and they have many.

A second feed pops to life, projected from the wristband hidden behind the potted plant by the main stairwell protest. Another shower of stars. Another loud response from the protesters because they still have many more.

On the Beijing the same thing happens with a shower of stars popping out underneath the big arched sign, blooming up, high and wide. On the concourse on the Ark the same thing happens, and those few feeds keep going for several long seconds. Just them. Nothing more. Just the stars.

Dil and the Elforists fall quiet. The reporters the same. The guard station falls to silence. Outside on the platform the crowds shush and grow quiet to watch the feeds. On the Ark the concourse sees a rush as people gather to watch. On the Beijing too, and across the fleet people stop in offices and cabins. They stop working out in gyms and shopping in stores. Hundreds of thousands of people, staring at some gold and silver stars cascading out. Just that. Nothing more.

Sam works on at his table in the Six Bar and Eatery, completely oblivious to the silence about him as people taking breaks to eat and grab coffees open feeds to watch it live, all of them ignoring the guy at the back behind a bank of screens. His fingers blurring as he types. His face a mask. His mind lost to this now. To what this is, what it means. To the emotions inside. To his experiences since he met Yasmine.

Sam knows where he went wrong with the Nazi advert. He fell for the same easy route and went for shock and violence. He went for fear and darkness, and those are just not Sam’s way. They’re not Beaky’s way either, and he presses the button to make it happen.

It took time because hacking multiple wristbands is hard work. He had to isolate the signals and figure out which was which and who was showing what, and he had to do it in two places, the café and the stairwell. The signals from wristbands showing his hacked adverts and stick-figure clips. The signals that he hijacks and takes over, one at a time.

At the stairwell protest a clip plays over the head of Gretchen, a mother of two whipped up into a frenzy of hate against the Elfors. A clip showing Abdul killing Mahatma that suddenly ends and changes to a shower of stars cascading out and Gretchen blinks in surprise, falling quiet to stare up.

At the café protest, one of the guys in the mob that went for Stella suddenly looks up when his feed changes to a shower of stars. Then, a second later, the guy next to him has the same thing happen. At the stairwell too. Another feed is taken over and turned into showering stars and Sven puffs on his vape stick, smiling to himself as one by one, every single feed above every single protester is taken over and turned into the same cascading stars.

At the stairwell it’s the same. Every single protester. Every single feed. All of them, one by one, turning from whatever darkness they were showing to those stars cascading and a great silence falls in both locations. A great silence falls in many places.

‘Fuck,’ Penny whispers, feeling that same thing inside again. That rush of panic from her own character trait of worrying too much. Her heart beating weirdly. Her stomach in knots.

Sam, however, doesn’t have it this time and he smiles at Beaky as he presses the final button. Making it go live – and as one, every single feed changes from the cascading stars to dark empty stages and the opening bars of Chi-Chi’s hauntingly beautiful ballad, ‘Dance For The Light’ playing out.

Chi-Chi frowns in her studio. She didn’t give consent for this. But it’s definitely her track. ‘Dance For The Light’. The simple piano opening that slowly builds up until her vocals kick in. Deep and emotive. Resonating and powerful.

But the stage stays empty and dark with no motion. With nothing happening. With nothing else, and Sam knew the expectation was to counter with violence and aggression, but that just isn’t Sam’s way. This is Sam’s way, and Beaky twirls into view on that dark empty stage with a single spotlight tracking his motions.

A single spotlight that shines down to show his skinny arms up in the air as he spins slowly on his skinny legs with his feet clad in ballerina shoes and a tutu about his base. An instant reaction gained, as thousands of people make soft noises at the cute sight of him. At the expression on his face, so earnest and full of emotion, and the way he dances slowly with his bulk and shape contrasting with his grace, with Chi-Chi’s strong sad voice and those haunting piano notes.

It shouldn’t work. It’s a stupid, ridiculous thing to do. Except it does work. It’s so odd as to be uniquely wonderful and the raw simplicity creates something instantly moving as Beaky dances to a song about darkness and sadness. About loss and suffering. About how easy it is to give in and give up, but you cannot ever give up. You must never give up. You must dance for the light or the light will die. You must live and feel, and so Beaky does that now. He dances like a ballerina, pirouetting on the tips of his toes until he reaches the far side of the stage and the song grows dark and weary, telling of defeat and loss. Telling of suffering and pain, and Beaky starts to sink down with a great sadness about him. An awful crushing sadness, and the light starts to fade as he sinks lower. The scene growing darker. The famous song seems to stall in the middle as the vocals cease and those simple piano keys sound out. A song Chi-Chi wrote about her own battles to leave the Bustees, and how she almost gave up. How she found herself broken and ready for defeat – but the song is also about how she needed to reach rock-bottom before she could truly rise, and a second spotlight suddenly shines on the other side of the stage that Beaky’s tiny beaker twirls into.

Tiny Beaker clad in his own ballerina shoes and tutu, and just the sight of him brings forth another gasp with the attention of so many held on one simple animation sequence. The attention of so many held on Tiny Beaker as he dances over to Beaky, slumped over and facing away. Defeated and broken, but Tiny Beaker dances over to share his strength and light to make Beaky rise. To give him hope, and Beaky slowly looks up. Falteringly. Hesitantly. It’s too much. He’s given up, but Tiny Beaker says no and takes Beaky’s hand. Beaky rises, summoning strength and courage as the song starts to lift again. Chi-Chi’s voice grows stronger, and the piano plays louder and Beaky dances out in a sudden pirouette, twirling and leaping higher than before. Stomachs stir and the people watching feel a rush inside when Tiny Beaker joins in, matching Beaky spin for spin with a dizzying display of perfect synchronicity. Both of them in perfect harmony with Chi-Chi’s voice. With Chi-Chi’s music. With each other.

‘Dance. Dance for the light. Sing too. Sing for the light.’

A simple animation against a simple track. No violence. No blood or shock. No anything. Just the rising tempo that stirs the stomach and stirs the heart as the two beakers reach either end of the stage. Facing one another. The music rising. Growing faster. Growing stronger, and Tiny Beaker runs for it. Running hard across that stage to leap high as Beaky moves in to catch him in his hands. Holding him tight while turning and spinning and leaping. Crying with happiness. Smiling sadly. Holding his Tiny Beaker snuggled in close, and across the fleet eyes fill with moisture and this time, those angry parents do not turn their children away. Grown men and grown women held rapt. Tears flow in the walkway, too, the death of Stella and the violence, fear and raw emotions tipping them over, and outside the platform at the guard station, the great hush stays as Elforists watch Beaky and the message of hope from a voice speaking out for them. Good people doing what they can with what they have, and that is the true Elfor way.

The music comes to an end with Clara’s deep voice speaking out as the scene fades to black.

‘You don’t fight hate with hate, sugar . . .’

The impact is once more incendiary, with huge cheers going up. Penny hugs Clara. Even Kristi wipes her eyes. Many people do and the net lights up as thousands try to comment at the same time while at the protests, the gathered men and women swipe at their bands and desperately try to access their hacked interfaces. It’s a frightening thing to have your system taken over, but more than that, it was a show of strength. It was Sam telling the other side what he can do. That he doesn’t need to take the art of someone else to get attention. That he doesn’t need violence and shock.

He gives it a few more seconds, then kills the lot. All of the feeds in all of the places cease as one, and his new advert above the café kicks back in. A smile on his face. Gentle, not boastful.

‘I think you’ll be number one again, Beaky,’ he says quietly, still oblivious to the room about him erupting with chat and noise. He turns his head as another message comes in.

You’re a fucking cunt, Gablunskoo. Go back to your fucking airlock.

Sam smiles again, figuring he just scored a massive point to get such an angry response.

You’re still a sad loser with no friends.

‘Harsh,’ Sam says with a chuckle, thinking to cut it off as messages come in from Penny and Abdul. From Helga and Sven and Clara. From Boris and Pash and even one from Colin.

You think those people like you? They don’t like you, Sam. They’re using you.

‘Someone’s getting desperate,’ Sam says, flicking between the angry messages and the nice ones from his friends.

You’re not an Elfor. You’re not one of them. Elfors take what they need and YOU are what they need. That’s it. Don’t be a mug and fucking wake up!

Sam rolls his eyes but feels that same sense of victory inside that he’s hurt the other side without resorting to shit tactics.

Abdul knows you’re an orphan. He knows your mom and dad died. He’s using that against you. That’s what Elforists do.

Let me guess. Tell me if I get this right . . .

‘How can I tell you? I can’t respond you dumb shit,’ Sam murmurs, reading the message.

Abdul is calling you son and telling you he’s proud of you. That right? And they’re telling you they’ve got your back. They’re saying what you need to hear. They are using you.

Sam reads it while still trying to hold his smile in place. Still trying to retain that feeling of victory, telling himself these are just the words of a sore loser. But he shifts in his seat, knowing he should stop reading.

Has he paid you yet? Has he actually given you anything other than free use of a hotel room somewhere? He owns that hotel. He owns you.

Abdul doesn’t own the hotel on the Beijing. Penny said he always uses it for work, but he doesn’t actually own it. Although she did say he claims it back in expenses.

You’re a sad loser they exploited because they knew you had no friends.

Sam shifts again. Still knowing it to be a foul trick to get under his skin. He wishes he could reply just to say that.

Yasmine used you too, Sam.

Sam tuts. He was waiting for this to start.

She used you to rob the Finance offices because you had skills she needed. She preyed on your lonely life.

‘Fuck you,’ Sam mutters with a flash of anger inside.

She said you’ll score big and run away to the Ab-Spa, yes?

Have you then?

Are you in the Ab-Spa?

Have you had sex with her?

Lots of reasons why it hasn’t happened though, right?

Constant interruptions and it just hasn’t been the right time.

But you’ll do it soon. She promises that. Just stay with her so she can bleed you dry. So she can use you.

That’s not true. Yasmine tried to have sex this morning before Sun ran in, even though Sun said Yasmine poked her in the head.

Wherever you are right now will be somewhere Yasmine or Abdul want you to be. Doing what they need. Doing their dirty work. Keeping you on hand to rescue them.

* * *

‘Ouch,’ Osmosis says with a wincing chuckle as he writes the messages. ‘And you said I was dark.’

‘Tell him again that’s what Yasmine does,’ Karen says, her face animated as she leans over the table towards Osmosis. ‘Tell him Yassy never puts out. Not for anyone. You tell him that. And tell him Abdul makes money from Neon City, so he doesn’t want it moved. That’s all this is. He’s given his career up for fuck all. You tell him that. They’re using him. You’re getting something out of this, Ossie, you’re getting a nightclub. What’s he getting? Nothing. I bet she hasn’t even kissed him.’

Have you even kissed? If you did, I bet you started it and she had to let it happen, but that was probably interrupted too, right?

Sam swallows while thinking back to when they were making out, when they first reached the hotel, and how hesitant Yasmine was.

She’s a damsel in distress in a constant state of crisis without ever giving anything back.

* * *

Sam reads the message as the ear gel activates with Yasmine’s rushed voice blurting out.

‘Sam! It’s me. We’re at that security door. Can you get us in? We’ve got to be quick . . .’

Sam pauses, closing his eyes.

‘Sam? Can you hear me?’

‘Yeah,’ he says quietly. ‘I can hear you.’

He taps into his system, linking to her interface and sliding in to see the rejection ping and that it’s just a low-end security door. Nothing special.

‘Sam? Are you still there?’

‘It’s done,’ he says.

‘Oh my god! Thank you.’

‘Listen, Yasmine . . . are you . . .’

‘I can’t talk now.’

She cuts out. Leaving Sam staring at the messages coming in.

Yassy takes. She never gives back.

You need to wise up.

It’s still not true. Sam knows it’s not true. They’re taking Yasmine’s personality and weaponizing it against him. Anyone can do that with anything.

* * *

‘Hey, Ossie,’ Karen says, lowering her voice as she motions Osmosis to lean in. ‘Can you hack wristbands?’

‘Duh. Seriously?’ Osmosis asks, flapping his hands out.

‘Okay. I’ve got an idea. But keep it between us and I’ll make sure your club has the best hookers in this whole fleet. Right. Tell him this . . .’

Sam. I know you. You’re a nice guy and I don’t want to see you getting hurt.

Sam frowns at the new tactic, still telling himself to shut it down.

Yasmine doesn’t like guys like you. She likes big men with charisma and power. Men like Dmitri.

Yasmine has been in love with Dmitri since they were kids. She’s never been with anyone else.

That strikes a nerve and Sam tenses, reading it through with an awful feeling growing in his gut.

Dmitri can fuck for hours, Sam. There is no way Yasmine would choose someone like you over him. Think about it. You know I’m right.

Sam turns his head away, a great surge of hurt and jealousy rising inside. His limbs feeling jittery, his hand shaking. He rubs his face as yet more messages come in.

I’m sorry, Sam. But you need to see this.

A video clip starts playing and that sick feeling in his gut magnifies by a thousand when he sees Yasmine in the footage. She looks younger but Sam doesn’t see that. He just sees her smiling as she walks backwards away from whoever is filming her.

‘Put it down. Seriously, Dmitri. We’re not filming it . . .’

‘Come on, Yassy. Just once.’

‘No!’ she laughs, falling backwards onto a mattress as Dmitri fixes the camera to the side to film himself lowering down as she lifts up to kiss him passionately. A deep pain inside of Sam. A horrible, nasty, dark feeling. He shouldn’t be watching this. It’s wrong on every level. Everyone has a past. This is just sick. Fucking sick. But he can’t help but look and see the way she kisses him and how her hands loop round the back of his head. Yasmine hasn’t touched him like that at all. She just said he was cute and naïve and she had to protect him. Like he was a child or something. The messages were right too. Dmitri is packed with muscle. Big arms and big shoulders. Sam isn’t anything like that.

‘We’re not filming it,’ she says between kisses.

‘We are,’ Dmitri says.

‘I said we’re not,’ she says back as he kisses her neck and starts pushing her top up over her belly.

Sam hits his kill switch to end every feed and screen at once. He can’t be here. He can’t be anywhere near here, and he rushes into the walkway. Not looking at his path ahead. Slamming into shoulders, running to be away. Running because he has to leave this place. Running to get out of Section 6. Running from everything he just heard, saw and read. Running from the truth of it.

45

Thursday Evening

Supply Depot, Section 6

The Ark

‘What exactly are we looking for?’ Sun asks as they stand in the corridor next to the door they just hacked. The door leading from the vast hangar.

‘No idea,’ Yasmine says, while thinking that Sam sounded different when she asked him to hack the door, but again there just isn’t time to stop and think. They only have one hour while everyone else is on a break before the overtime starts, and this is the only place left to check.

Noises ahead. Voices laughing and cheering as a door swishes back with a guy twirling clumsily out of a room, singing in an awful baritone. ‘I’m dancing for the light . . . I love it! Set it up again while I have a quick piss,’ he calls out while rushing through another door.

They rush past the staff room filled with workers listening to Chi-Chi’s ‘Dance For The Light’ and move fast along the corridor through the wide twists and turns until it eventually ends in front of a long row of service elevators, each one numbered with some form of code that means nothing to them.

‘That guy I spoke to said something about tunnels,’ Sun whispers as Yasmine looks about and waggles her wristband at an elevator scanner. She fully expects it to bleep red but it flashes green, and a few seconds later the doors open. They go inside and drop down to a huge area with lines on the floor.

‘Tunnels,’ Sun says, pointing out the multitude of corridors leading off.

Yasmine nods, trying to understand what the lines mean, and which corridor they should take. ‘Did our section for the Beijing have a number?’

‘No idea,’ Sun says, shaking her head. ‘Ooh, hang on.’ She swipes her system to bring her virtual clipboard and scanner up showing the manifests and order lists. ‘Yes! Got it. The Beijing is number 12. Look for a 12.’

‘There aren’t 12, There’s only 8.’

‘They must be using a system,’ Sun says. ‘Give me a second. Yeah, look. The Beijing is section 12 which is allocated route 4. Boom! The protégée excels herself.’

‘Yeah, don’t peak too soon,’ Yasmine says but the glint is in her eye and they set off on route 4 into a long corridor, freshly buoyed by their own genius detective abilities and the simplicity with which they are finding clues and working it all out.

A few doors here and there, each one with a security scanner and a code over the top that means nothing to them. They go through more bends only to see more corridor ahead. Both of them already tired after a long, gruelling day of hard labour. Heavy legs, sore feet, and both hungry. Another bend and they spill out into a wide corridor running left to right. A wall ahead fitted with oversized airlocks that take cages into lifts, which raise them into the cargo holds of shuttles docking at the main concourse directly above them. Windows in the airlock doors give them a glimpse of the outside, and the shuttles coming and going. Yasmine notices that all the tunnels seem to feed into this area, which means the cages are pulled into the elevators and through to here for boarding.

‘We’ve got less than 40 minutes,’ Sun says, bringing her focus back with a start at realising it’s taken over 20 minutes just to reach here.

‘There must be somewhere else,’ Yasmine says. ‘Maybe those rooms we passed. It’s the only place left, really.’

They head back into the tunnel, walking quickly through the bends until they reach the first door. Yasmine offers a quick prayer as she waggles her band at the scanner, then curses when it flashes red.

‘Just call Sam,’ Sun urges.

‘I don’t want to keep disturbing him,’ Yasmine says, trying to think if there’s another way, as both snap their heads up to the sound of cages trundling along the floor towards them. A hum underfoot from the magnetic drive pulling them along, voices chatting, and that awful baritone voice still singing ‘Dance For The Light’.

‘Sam!’ Yasmine whispers urgently, pressing her ear gel to activate the link. ‘Sam? Can you hear me? We’re at another door . . .’ She pauses to listen, unsure if it’s working. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘I need the rejection ping.’ Sam’s voice comes back, but it’s different again. Unfriendly, even.

‘Sam, it’s on my interface. Quick!’ Sun says.

Nothing. No response. No speaking. No anything, and they look to the bend in the corridor and the noise of the cages coming closer. ‘Sam! Are you doing this or not?’ Sun asks as a weird screen flashes up from her system. Matt black and filling with lines of code. ‘What the fuck is that?’

‘Sam, what is that?’ Yasmine asks.

‘I’ve loaded a program onto your bands. Just get the rejection ping and it’ll run as long as the door isn’t biometrically linked. You won’t need me anymore.’

Sun tries it again, waggling her band as the code on her screen changes just before the scanner flashes green and the door opens.

‘Fuck me,’ Sun gasps after a few seconds. ‘That was intense. But hey, this is definitely a cupboard and not a secret lair.’

A small room stacked with cleaning materials. Nothing of interest. Nothing of use.

They reach the next door and a wall of noise and heat comes out. Workers in protective gear fixing broken cages, welding and grinding with sparks flying out. Another hammers away at a bench. Tools and kit everywhere, and they both pause for a surreal second, watching a tutu-clad holo projection of Beaky pirouetting across the room while ‘Dance For The Light’ blasts out and the workers swing their hips and sing along. One of them turns to laugh at Beaky and spots the girls in the door. ‘YOU OKAY?’ he bellows over the noise.

‘WRONG ROOM,’ Yasmine shouts back, rolling her eyes as the guy gives a thumbs up.

‘YOU’VE GONE PAST IT. NEXT ONE ALONG,’ he yells, going back to his work as they move away, sharing wincing looks at the lucky escape.

They head off for the next room along, both wondering what the guy meant as the sound of cages trundling back from the port reaches them. Voices growing louder, too.

They break into a jog, running through the next bend only to hear more cages coming from the other direction. A door ahead, and the same thing happens. The program comes up, the screen filling with code, but it takes longer this time and the nerves spike once more as the cages and voices get closer.

They rush into a large, brightly-lit room filled with delivery cages ready to go out. More rooms off to one side. A woman standing by a desk inside one with her back to them, humming along to ‘Dance For The Light’ playing from somewhere.

Yasmine thinks fast, knowing there’s no way two sets of cages can pass each other in the tunnel, which means this is a secondary storage area and one of those sets of workers in the tunnel will be coming in. She grabs Sun’s hand to pull her over to one side, ducking down behind a row of cages as the door fills with the looming figure of the man who was singing in that awful baritone.

‘Come on, Milo,’ one of them shouts. ‘Get your fucking cages in.’

‘Yeah yeah,’ the guy with the baritone replies, dragging the first full cage into the room. ‘Dance for the light,’ he sings again, making everyone else groan.

‘You’re murdering that song, Milo,’ one of them grumbles.

‘Piss off. I’ve got a good voice,’ Milo says, as more abuse gets thrown in from the crew outside. But that’s good because it creates noise and distraction for Yasmine and Sun to delve deeper into the room. Hiding behind the cages, they spot a door on the far side swishing back. Another tunnel must be on the other side, and Yasmine notices the room is like the storage hangar in the hub. Which means that whatever is going on must be happening in here. It’s the only place left.

‘Sing too. Sing for the light.’ Milo blasts it out, making even Sun and Yasmine share a grimace before they tense at his voice coming closer. ‘Hiding away, are you?’ he calls.

Sun flinches, her heart booming hard as Yasmine risks a look to see Milo staring at the people on other side of the room with a big grin. ‘Yeah, you are. Got your game, lazy fuckers. Here, you seen that clip, Craggy? The little beaker thing.’

‘No!’ Craggy laughs, coming in closer to stare at Milo’s feed as though watching something. ‘We got any extras today?’ Craggy asks quietly. ‘Could do with the creds.’

‘Yeah. When are your lot due off?’

‘About half an hour.’ Craggy says. ‘I’ll hang back when they go.’

‘Nice one,’ Milo says, winking at his mate as they both stand upright and make a show of going back to loud and jovial. ‘Yeah, that beaker. I bet Pretty Boy is drowning in pussy! Eh, boys? Lucky fucker.’

Yasmine double-takes as Sun stifles a laugh, both sharing looks at the thrill inside from running and hiding and breaking into places and following clues to catch bad guys. It’s like a holo movie and great fun. Milo and Craggy are so obviously doing something naughty. All they have to do is wait and watch, and boom. Defective Dufont and her trusty sidekick Sun Sing will solve the case.

46

Thursday Night

‘ALL DONE!’ the voice shouts out, going further away. The doors close with a hiss. Things clang and make noise. A jolt as the shuttle detaches and launches into space, the cages about her rattling noisily. A sudden drop in temperature. She shivers from the cold and wraps her arms about her body, her hands sticky with blood as she stares into the pitch darkness, trying to think how it went so horribly wrong.

* * *

The half hour seemed to drag in the storage room deep within tunnel number 4 but the workers soon started heading off, albeit in a frustrating trickle rather than a flood, so Sun and Yasmine had to stay quiet and hidden.

‘You coming, Milo?’ someone shouted.

‘You go. I need a shit,’ Milo shouted back as Sun and Yasmine shared looks.

‘Craggy, we’re off,’ a voice shouted from the other side.

‘Yep. Just finishing. See you tomorrow,’ Craggy called and the tension seemed to ramp. The game was afoot, and the girls were on it. Ready to be super sexy covert spies catching bad guys doing bad things – and it was all so awesomely easy, too.

‘You ready, Crag?’ Milo called a few minutes later.

‘Yep. Everyone gone?’

Yasmine risked a glimpse to see the two men side by side, with Milo opening his interface. ‘Er, let’s see. Most of them are Beijing again. Couple from the Vladivostok. Were your lot doing the Vladi today then?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay. Beijing first,’ Milo said. He popped a virtual screen out while walking away as Yasmine strained to hear what they were saying.

Go closer, she mouthed to Sun and they set off through the narrow gaps to stay close and listen.

‘. . . oh man, she’s all over me for creds. Fucking kid’s due any week now. Honestly, Milo. I wished I’d never fucked her.’

‘What did I say? I said it’s five minutes of fun then eighteen years of hell. I told you, Crag. You should have fucking checked.’

‘How? I asked her. I said you taking birth control. She said yeah, sure. Lying bitch. Saw me coming. She knows I’m full-time on the Ark with a salary. Anyway. Who we doing first?’

‘Ming’s Merchant again,’ Milo said as Yasmine and Sun shared a look of recognition at the name of Mr Ming’s store.

‘I’ve got Chan’s Clothing here, Milo. He’s one of Abdul’s. We did him the last few times. He on the list, is he?’ Craggy asked as Yasmine and Sun nodded at each other, the tension rising even more at hearing Abdul’s name and mention of a list.

‘Yeah, we’re doing him again. Grab three pairs of size ten boots for downstairs and the size elevens for up here, and he’s got twenty sets of new coveralls in his order. They want ten for below and three for up here. And the safety harnesses too. Two each for each.’

They were stealing to order. It was so obvious, and not uncommon at all. Yasmine did it all the time with shoplifting in the retail zone – you get a list and go nick what you need, then either sell it back or get paid for your time.

She risked another look to see them stacking some of the goods on the floor in the middle of the main walkway, while other bits were put into big empty sacks within other cages.

‘All done?’ Milo asked a few moments later. ‘Ming’s Merchant’s next. He should have a load of Calm-A-Mind in there. He’s got the new batch with the green edges. We’ll have them out and stick some old crap in for him.’

‘We taking all of it?’ Craggy asked.

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Dunno. Just, you know, we’re not leaving him anything.’

‘Don’t question it, Crag. Do you want extra creds for your unborn-baby momma or not?’

Sun and Yasmine watched and listened as Craggy and Milo took more than half of Mr Ming’s intended delivery and split it between the two piles.

‘What’s next?’ Craggy asked.

‘Sing’s Dispensary again,’ Milo replied, as Yasmine felt Sun tense next to her with an expression of rage flashing across her features.

‘They must be getting royally fucked over,’ Craggy said a moment later.

‘Way of the fleet, Crag. Always some cunt ripping some other cunt off. Invisible hand of trade they call it. And it ain’t them being rolled, is it? It’s Abdul they’re going after. Well, I mean the stuff in the cages is. Not the other shit for below. Anyway, let’s just get it done. I want a beer. We’re having all of the Femifade. Half the Slappy-Dome, and grab the pricey opiates too. Ah shit, I’m getting a call. You crack on with it, Crag,’ Milo said, moving out of earshot before he answered.

‘Did you get the list?’ a male voice asked. Softly spoken and cultured. Audio only. No video.

‘Yeah, we’re doing it now,’ Milo said quietly. ‘Is the old stuff ready to come up?’

‘It is and make sure it goes to Abdul’s customers. How’s Craggy?’

Milo winced and checked about before replying. ‘Yeah. Bad choice maybe. He’s asking too many questions. He knows we’re going for Abdul’s stores and he keeps asking who’s trying to rip him off. He’s no good.’

‘Understood. Get tonight done and I will resolve it.’

The call cut out as Yasmine frowned at the implication. What the hell were these guys doing?

‘Right. Mess it up then,’ Milo said. Yasmine and Sun risked another look to see them swapping random stuff from cage to cage, and both realised that was why the deliveries were not only missing stock but also contained the wrong stuff. It was being made to look like automated supply issues and problems with the matrix to cover the systematic and targeting thieving.

Milo and Craggy then headed off to the other side of the room to do the same again.

‘That’s the lot,’ Milo said, coming back to the middle. ‘Ready for the fun bit?’

They both grabbed armfuls of gear and disappeared from sight. The girls heard the sound of feet on metal stairs and darted across the middle walkway over to the far side, to stare in surprise at a set of stairs going down.

An old disused staffroom below. A few inflatable sofas and a coffee machine. Old boxes stacked on the floor. Doors leading to toilets and rows of lockers. Everything was dirty and grimy. A door at the end of the room had a security scanner on the side.

They went closer to listen and heard a thud from the other side. The bleep of a scanner. A look shared and they tried darting into the toilets, only to find the door locked and an old sign on the front saying OUT OF ORDER, as Yasmine realised that’s why there were using the other staff room. They spun about and dived behind the sofas as the door opened and the two men came through dragging an empty cage.

They went back up and Sun went to move but Yasmine held her still, knowing the two men would only take a moment to grab more gear and come back down.

She was right and they soon returned, carrying crates to stack in the empty cage before dragging it away through the door at the end.

Yasmine ran after them with Sun right behind her. Both of them listened intently but heard nothing, and after a moment Yasmine pressed her band to the scanner and waited as the program flashed up. It took ages, but just as they were about to pull back the door opened. Two corridors stretching off. The two men coming back from one of them. They ran into the other and hid around the corner, waiting for the door to shut behind Craggy and Milo before they set off again on their super sleuthing adventure.

They ran along the corridor the men had used. Doors on both sides, but they followed the drag marks of the cage to the very end, and another security door.

Another room greeted them, square and dimly lit. Empty cages to one side and full ones in front of them. Another door on the other side of the room, and it was obvious the guys were dumping the stolen stock in here and taking empty cages back out for the next trip. This must also be where the old stock was being left for them to take out.

They heard the men returning and hunkered down to hide while Milo and Craggy came in and swapped over to take an empty cage out, with Milo pausing in the door for a long second to scratch the back of his neck.

‘Oh my fucking god,’ Sun gasped when the door closed. ‘This is so intense,’ she added, while Yasmine was already pushing her band at the scanner on the other door.

Another corridor greeted them. Another door at the end. Another big set of words telling people NO ENTRY. They were getting closer to whatever was going on, they could feel it.

A small room inside. No desk. No furniture. No anything. Just another door with the same warning, and that door took even longer for Sam’s program to hack. More than a minute of the screen rewriting code until it too flashed green. ‘Holy fucking shit,’ Yasmine said when it opened.

The room was huge. Really huge, but it wasn’t the size that threw them. It was the stuff inside. Shelving on all sides and more shelving units in the middle, creating aisles to walk through. Each shelf was stacked with crates, boxes and all manner of things, seeming to flow from one section to the next.

Dozens of pairs of boots in one section. Work-harnesses and coveralls and protective clothing in the next section. Padded jackets. Padded trousers. Fireproof suits. AI-activated armour too – the kit used by the police and security services.

‘Seen this?’ Sun asked.

Yasmine followed her voice into an aisle to see an entire section filled with pharmaceuticals. Blister packets, vials and tubs. Low-end to high-end. Treatments for every illness and condition. Cancer pills. Abortion pills. Blood treatments. Pain relief. Gels and unguents.

Medical equipment too – surgical gear and instruments. Medi-packs and first aid kits. Fat-scanners, bone-scanners, AI medical scanners. All inert and everything sealed.

Tools in the next section – weird hand tools that they only recognised from old Earth movies. Things that cut through wood and metal, like long metal strips with sharp teeth. Hammers. Spikes. Wrenches. Tiny screwdriver sets. Gear for electrical and mechanical work.

‘What’s through there?’ Yasmine asked, seeing another door at the side of the room.

Authorised Personnel Only!

She shrugged and figured Sam’s program made them authorised so duly held the band to the scanner, but the screen instantly flashed red and shut down. ‘Must be biometric,’ she said and spotted Sun peering through a thick glass window to the inside. ‘What’s in there?’

‘Dunno, can’t make it out,’ Sun said as Yasmine joined her. The room inside looked as big as this one and was filled with huge lengths of resin and wide sides of hard materials that seemed familiar. Sun tapped the glass with a smile. ‘Cabins. They’re cabins – look, they’re all in sections.’

She was right. There were thousands of sectional pieces all set out. Ends. Sides. Fronts. Sleeping tubes broken down into parts. Inflatable sofas and pop-up tables, and chairs. More structures and big things.

They moved on further through the room to the next door along with another warning stencilled across the front.

Protected Environment.

Warning: Lower Grav & Chemical Preserver In Use.

Do Not Enter!

A window in the door, and they stared through to see wood inside. Real wood from Earth, tons of it, stacked in planks and strips and blocks. Hundreds of tons. Whole trees stripped of branches and held on cradles. A room with lower grav to hold the incredibly heavy loads. The next room along had the same warning on the door, and another window, and they looked through to see more building materials inside. Whole walls and huge thick sheets made of the grey, hard, stone-type material they used for buildings on Earth. Steel rods running through them, poking out the ends.

‘We’re in the tombs,’ Sun whispered, shooting a look at Yasmine. ‘We’re in the fucking tombs.’

Everyone in the fleet knew what the tombs were. Some people even thought they were mythical. It was where the things they’d need for a new planet were held. Tools. Building equipment. Clothes. Wood. Cabins. Tubes. Medical kit. The place was gargantuan, too. So big they couldn’t see the end of the main room, just more doors leading off. Some with warnings across the front and others too far to see properly. A wide set of stairs further along gave access to a lower level, with a row of forklift-style electric buggies parked up at one end.

‘How the hell did we just walk in here?’ Sun asked, looking about and keeping her voice low. She didn’t need to – the place was so vast they could have shouted at the tops of their voices to no effect, but they were in spy mode, so it felt right.

‘That’s why the doors took so long to open,’ Yasmine replied, with a new and much deeper level of respect for Sam’s abilities. ‘But er . . . hello?’ she asked, as Sun shot her a confused look.

‘What?’ Sun asked.

‘Duh . . .’

‘Duh what?’

‘Duh we just solved the mystery is what.’

‘Oh my god!’ Sun said as her face lit up in realisation, a grin stretching from ear to ear. She grabbed Yasmine in a hug, both of them laughing and grinning as they pulled back, high-fiving with faces flushed at the excitement and adventure of it all. But Yasmine was right. They’d done it. They now knew how the deliveries to Abdul’s stores were going wrong. It was happening right here, and they even knew who was doing it.

‘Those fuckers,’ Sun said, the outrage of it mingling with the buzz and joy of figuring it out. ‘So, those guys are after Abdul? Is that it? I’m still a bit lost.’

‘They’re stealing to order. You heard that call Milo got. There’s another party rolling Abdul to mess his supply chain up. That’s why you’ve been getting old stock and stuff you didn’t order. It’s genius really, and makes it look like the system is at fault. Then everyone blames customs, and now the new matrix, and boom. Job done.’ Yasmine fell silent, a thought in mind as she stared back to the aisles and shelving units. She frowned and set off, walking fast with Sun rushing to keep up. ‘But why nick a few boxes of Calm-A-Mind when they’ve got all this?’ she asked, breaking off into a jog, past the sections of tools, back to the medical supply areas. Stopping to grab at bags of pills and boxes, medicines and treatments. Some of it made on the Ark, and some still left over from Earth. ‘End dates. It’s the end dates. Fuck me!’

‘What?’ Sun asked, peering at a box of pills in Yasmine’s hands.

‘Look. The end date is printed on each packet. These are perishables. That’s why they’re taking the old stuff up. Jesus, Yassy, get with it.’ She tutted at how long it took her to work it out. ‘They’re restocking the tombs for free and blagging you off with old crap. That’s why Mr Ming was getting the old batches of Calm-A-Mind.’

‘Shit,’ Sun said, struggling to process it all. ‘But why the boots and clothes?’

‘Clothes perish, I guess,’ Yasmine said with a shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ She fell silent again, still thinking fast. ‘Oh, shit. The code.’

‘What code? What are you on about?’

‘Nothing,’ Yasmine said, shaking her head at Sun. ‘Mind went wonky. Right. We need to get back and see where those cages are going. Whoever gets those cages is the puta rolling Abdul and your mom.’

‘What did you mean about a code?’

‘Nothing! Whatever. Let’s just get back.’

‘Tell me! I can see it in your face,’ Sun said, grabbing at Yasmine’s arm as she turned to go. ‘What code? Penny and Sam said about a code too.’

‘Okay. Listen. I cannot tell you. That’s it. Conversation over. There was just something else going on that had nothing to do with your mom or anything. Okay?’ She stared at Sun, seeing the need inside the younger woman to know, and figured she’d be busting a gut at not being told something. But it was a secret not for sharing. ‘But hey,’ she said softly, smiling at Sun. ‘Is my protégée happy we solved the mystery?’

Sun cracked a smile with the glint of play coming back in her eyes as she pressed her hands together and bowed her head. ‘Grand master. You are most aged and wise with your grey pubes.’

‘I don’t have grey pubes!’ Yasmine said, as they walked back through the aisles. A long day. A hard day. Both of them were exhausted and very hungry, but they had achieved what they set out to do, so the mood between them was well-deserved. ‘But hey, you grow up in the Elfors, you go grey young.’

‘Elfors,’ Sun scoffed. ‘Hutongs, bitch.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘Fuck off.’

Thankfully, going out was a lot easier, and no sooner than later they were pressing their ears to the door of the room the men stacked the cages in, listening for signs of movement on the other side.

* * *

She shivers from the cold and figures that was the point right there, as they moved into that room. They weren’t paying attention. They were buoyed up and rushing to get out. If only they’d stopped for a few seconds longer.

If only.

* * *

‘Sounds okay,’ Sun whispered. The door slid open, and both held still and silent until Sun’s belly growled out, making them snort with laughter as they stepped inside, and after that was like slow-motion. Like it all went weird as Milo surged up from one side and Craggy from the other.

‘YASSY!’ Sun yelled. Yasmine spun about. Instincts from a lifetime in the Elfors kicked in and she lashed out with a fist into Milo’s nose then a knee into his groin as Sun screamed and jumped back from Craggy so fast she cracked the side of her head on the door frame.

Milo grunted from the pain and got a spiteful fist into Yasmine’s back, sending her into Craggy. She twisted away and kicked him hard in the shins, making him react with a yelp and a push that sent her flying into Sun with both falling through the door into the corridor.

There followed a very strange second with everyone staring at each other, and the surreal notion that it all escalated a bit too quick and maybe they could resolve the issues through dialogue and understanding. But alas, that was not meant to be. Milo locked eyes on Yasmine with a look of pure violence etched on his face.

‘I’ll fucking kill her!’ Milo yelled as the door between them closed and Yasmine grabbed at Sun.

‘RUN!’

They set off fast, both already hurting and stunned from the speed of it all, but both grew up in bad places where bad men do bad things, and so the fear was real. The dangers were obvious.

Yasmine did hope, right at that second, that Milo might not have security clearance to get through the door, but that hope was quashed when it swished back with both men running after them.

They hit the tombs and ran into the first vast section filled with shelves, and kept going on the path of least resistance. Sprinting into the first aisle with Yasmine risking a look back to see Milo already close behind.

‘Okay okay, enough,’ Milo yelled, slowing to a stop as he bent over to catch his breath. ‘Stop stop stop. Listen, bad call. Fair one. Shouldn’t have grabbed you. My bad. But . . . oh my god, I’m so unfit . . .’

Yasmine slowed to look back and noticed Craggy wasn’t with him. She also saw Milo was faking his gasps, pretending to be more puffed out than he was. It was in his eyes and the way he kept darting glances. A big guy too, with a bad aura about him, and he was holding a central line in the aisle, preventing them from running back. ‘Where’s your mate?’ she asked as Craggy ran into view at the far end, breathing hard from a fast sprint to flank and trap them within an aisle.

‘I gotta escort you out,’ Milo said, still huffing and puffing as he waved an arm at them as though expecting them to start moving. ‘You can’t be in here, girls. How’d you get in here anyway?’

‘We just took a wrong turn,’ Yasmine said.

‘Sure sure. Happens, apart from the fucking security doors you got through. Buy hey. Whatever. Who gives a fuck? Come on, I’ll take you out.’

‘We’ll find our own way,’ Yasmine said, pushing Sun behind her to back up into a shelving unit so she could see both sides.

‘No can do, ladies. Seriously. You get caught down here and it’s automatic time. Federal offence to be here.’

Milo was playing it cool, but the sense of threat was oozing from him and Yasmine remembered the call he’d had. The one about Craggy asking too many questions and that he’d need to be resolved. That meant whatever they’d stumbled into was serious, so she had to think smart and fast. ‘Go ahead then. Call the cops.’

‘Don’t be stupid. Just walk out,’ Milo said with a roll of his eyes.

‘What is this place, Milo?’ Craggy called from behind them.

‘Don’t use my name, you dumb shit,’ Milo snapped.

‘We know your names,’ Yasmine said. ‘You’re Milo. He’s Craggy. You worked route 4 today and Craggy did the Vladi. But hey, fuck it, I’ll call the cops right now and tell them yeah? Shall we do that? Or how about you two fuck off over to that big room where the wood is while we leave.’

‘How do you know my name?’ Milo asked.

‘We heard you,’ Yasmine said. ‘Upstairs.’

‘And we saw you fucking stealing,’ Sun said.

‘Shut up!’ Yasmine whispered.

‘That’s my mom’s stuff. You’re a fucking thief. Fuck you. FUCK YOU!’

‘Is that what this is?’ Milo asked, with a laugh. ‘Fuck me. Pair of cunts getting ripped off, so you’d thought you’d snoop about, yeah? Do me a favour. How did you get through the fucking doors then? Who are you and who sent you?’

‘People we work for, pal,’ Yasmine said with a sharp intake of air. ‘You don’t want to know. So, back the fuck up and let us go before this goes very wrong. You think I’m messing?’ she asked, swiping her system. ‘I’ll make a call right now, Milo. How about that? Back it up, big boy. And you, Craggy. You’ve got a kid coming. You don’t need this shit.’

‘How does she know that?’ Craggy shouted out. ‘Milo? How does she know that?’

‘She’s fucking with us, Crag. Just shut up.’

‘Yeah, I’m fucking with you, boys. Do you want to risk it? You’re stealing to order. Replacing stock down here and taking the old crap upstairs for someone else. Nice gig. Respect given but fuck off and let us walk because we’re not interested in you.’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’ Milo asked, screwing his face up.

‘I fucking saw you!’ Sun shouted. Too wound up and angry to shut up and let Yasmine work. ‘You’re done. You’re finished the second we get out—’

‘Sun!’ Yasmine hissed, jabbing an elbow into her side. ‘Both of you need to go. Right now. RIGHT NOW. Milo, you walk around and join Craggy or I’ll make the fucking call.’

‘Milo,’ Craggy called out. ‘What the hell is going on? Who are they? What is this place?’

Milo stopped to rub his jaw, staring at Yasmine. ‘Tell you what, love. You go ahead and make that call.’

A chill ran down Yasmine’s spine at the calm tone of his voice. At the stance he held. At the lack of worry showing and she swiped to call Penny, but the system bleeped with an automated voice sounding out. ‘No Connection.’

‘Oh dear,’ Milo said mildly. ‘Maybe try someone else.’

‘No connection,’ Yasmine’s interface replied when she did just that. ‘Fuck it. That’s cool,’ she said with a nod to Milo. ‘But hey, what’s this in my ear? Oh yes. It’s the live link to our back-up team. Fuck you! Sam? It’s me . . . Sam? SAM?’

‘Take your time,’ Milo said, exhaling slowly as he started walking towards them again. ‘No rush.’

‘SAM?’ Sun shouted out, jabbing her ear but hearing nothing. They couldn’t even hear each other.

‘Yeah, so,’ Milo said. ‘Funny story but fleet communication systems don’t work in the tombs. I say the tombs but this is more like a cupboard. The tombs are ten times this size, but bands don’t work down here. Links. Net connections. Signals. Nothing gets through the walls, you see. There’s this gizmo they can turn on so everything connects, but there’s no one down here so it’s turned off. But then the walls have to be thick to get through a planet’s atmosphere, don’t they? That’s what happens when we get there. The tombs detach and go first. It’s incredible really. You could throw nukes at this place and you wouldn’t feel a thing. So, you go ahead, Miss. You make your call.’

No connectivity. No point in screaming. No help from Sam. No help from anyone. Milo was coming towards them, but not fast. That only left one weaker link in the chain and one way out. ‘He’s going to kill you, Craggy.’ She turned on the other one while pushing Sun towards him. ‘We heard him on a call. He said you’re asking too many questions. They’re going to kill you.’

‘What?’ Craggy asked, shaking his head with confusion as Milo burst out laughing.

‘I heard it upstairs when he took that call. Milo said you were a bad choice. He said you need to be resolved.’

‘Yeah, paid off and moved. Not killed,’ Milo said with a laugh.

‘This is big, Craggy. Don’t listen to him,’ Yasmine said, still pushing Sun along. ‘Help us and you won’t get done for it. I promise. We’ll protect you.’

‘You ain’t feds!’ Milo said with another laugh. ‘You’re a pair of fucking gutter rats sent in to look about. There’s no way out.’

‘Craggy. I swear to you. People know where we are. They are waiting for us.’

‘Fuck off,’ Milo scoffed. ‘That stupid cow just said we’re robbing her mom. Know what I think? I’ll tell you what I think. You two have got a grudge and some other cunt has paid you to come and snoop about. Yeah? Sound about right? Maybe they even gave you a hacking program for the doors. Those ones aren’t bio linked, are they? Get in. Have a look. Earn a few creds. Sound right? You’ve been stitched up, ladies. Nobody is waiting for you, and even if they were, nothing will happen.’

‘Craggy,’ Yasmine said, still moving away from Milo. ‘We will pay you ten times what they are. You’ve got a kid coming, Craggy.’

‘He has got a kid coming, and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll do his job. That right, Crag? So be a good boy and stretch your arms out . . .’

‘What the hell is going on?’ Craggy called out as Milo scooped down to pull something from the top of his work-boot. A black handle that Yasmine recognised, way before the blade sprang out. ‘Milo . . . what the fuck, dude,’ Craggy said.

‘I said, Crag. I said people get airlocked,’ Milo said, pointing the knife at him. ‘You’ll get paid, son. Don’t worry about that.’

‘Craggy! Please,’ Yasmine said, looking for a weapon but seeing only packets of pills. ‘Go up. Sun! Go up . . .’ She grabbed at Sun, pushing her into the shelves. ‘Give me your foot. QUICK!’

‘Milo, pack it in,’ Craggy called out, his voice rising to panic.

Everything became a blur with Sun panicking too much to climb so Yasmine heaved her up the aisle towards Craggy while grabbing at bags and crates to throw at Milo. ‘GET OUT!’ she screamed at Sun. ‘GO – RUN! CRAGGY, PLEASE!’

Their day of wild adventure and super sleuthing had turned into a nightmare of wild fear. Trapped between two big men, one of them armed with a knife, Yasmine knew she had to do something. She had to get Sun away. That’s all that mattered. Sun was younger, and she’d tell Abdul or Sam what was happening. It was the only hope and so, with nothing left but the Elfor rage in her belly, she charged at Milo.

Milo lowered and readied himself with the blade. His lip curled up. His face hardened. A bang sounded out, deafeningly loud, then four of them in quick succession with Yasmine seeing Milo shunt with each burst, his body seemingly struck by an invisible force. A look of confusion on his features as Yasmine slammed into him, grabbed the knife, stuck it in his chest. Stabbing him over and over as the blood splashed up into her face. Then someone was at her side. A boot was on her chest and she was launched back, tumbling over on the hard floor as Craggy pointed a Taser pistol at Milo’s head and fired. But the gun went bang with the same deafening retort she’d heard before and it seemed to kick in Craggy’s hand, too. Realisation hit only at that second that Craggy was firing a real gun. Like from the old Earth movies. A real gun with real bullets that nobody in their right mind would ever use on a spaceship. A thing that sent a projectile out at such speed it could hit a window or wall and kill everyone. That’s what they were all told from birth. That’s why even 3-D printed guns were impossible to get. Just being caught with a component part of a firearm, or even a bullet, carried a mandatory whole-life prison sentence.

Yasmine turned away from the sight of Milo’s brains on the floor. Her senses ramped, seeing everything in pure vivid colours as Craggy turned back towards her with a strange look on his face. He looked older somehow. Smarter. Switched on. Not the same desperate panicking man he had been a few seconds ago.

He pointed to his ears and said something as Yasmine realised her own ears were ringing from the gunshots and she glanced back to see Sun sprawled out just behind her, her eyes flicking from Yasmine to Milo. Her face pale and shocked.

‘Do you two know what this is?’ he asked, pointing the weapon at them. ‘It’s a gun. It fires bullets. You can’t outrun bullets. Understand?’ His voice was different. Refined and deeper.

Yasmine nodded, while crabbing away to reach Sun. Wrapping her arms about her and never taking her eyes away from the man. ‘Let Sun go . . . please . . .’

‘Don’t speak. Put your bands on the floor. Ear gels too. Both of you.’

‘Craggy, please . . .’

‘My name isn’t Craggy. Do it now or I will kill you.’

He levelled the weapon at Yasmine, holding it steady with unblinking eyes. There was nothing they could do, so the bands and ear gels were placed down with shaking hands.

‘Move back,’ he ordered, and brought his heavy-booted foot down to smash the bands and gels, crushing them into bits while Yasmine glanced at Milo with an inward curse at the knife still in his chest.

‘Move. Head for the stairs.’

‘Please, just listen to me,’ Yasmine said.

‘Do not speak.’

There was nothing they could do but keep walking. Milo was dead. Murdered right there. Yasmine had hoped to make Milo the common enemy to win this guy over, but he was cold and smart. She could see it in him. She had one trick left and she had to use it fast. ‘I know what’s happening,’ she said, risking a glance back at him. ‘So do the people we work for. We go missing, then a whole world of hurt comes your way.’

A pause. No response. The expectation hung in the air. Heavy and charged but he didn’t tell her to be quiet.

‘They’re coming up for their end-dates. The meds. They need replacing, and you need to do it fast before we arrive.’ She shot him a look and saw the sharpness in his gaze as she rushed on to get the words out. ‘Is that why the new matrix was put in? To create chaos and make everything a mess so you can do a bit more in a rush. Then of course you get the other party wanting to fuck Abdul over and win-win – he gets some goodies and you get what you need. And, like I said, time is running out, isn’t it? How far off are we? Yeah. We know. You hurt us and this shit gets out. Everyone will know and the whole fleet turns on itself.’

Sun shot her a look as Yasmine gabbled on, remembering things Abdul said about the code when he told Sam to stop asking questions – all in the vain hope that at least something might be close to a truth and stop them from being executed. ‘And trust me. You harm us and you’re not getting it back . . . Yeah, that’s right. We’ve got it. We know where it is, and if you want it back then we need to stay alive.’

‘Down the stairs,’ he said, pointing them to the wide stairwell, making them go down to a place even bigger than the last level.

‘Jesus,’ Yasmine muttered at the sight of Earth vehicles all parked in long rows. Military looking things. Greens and dull greys. The lighting was dim, casting big shadows so she couldn’t see clearly, but the shapes were instantly recognisable from holo movies. The smell of oil and grease hung in the air. Other scents too. Harsh chemicals and the lingering trace of body odour and coffee that made her think people had been working here. A place of amazement for sure, but they were both more concerned with the man and the gun.

‘Here,’ the man said, moving them to a desk at the side. ‘Stand there and do not move.’ He kept watch on them while swiping at the desk system to make a call. Audio only. No video.

‘We’ve got a problem,’ he said as soon as it connected. ‘Milo’s dead and I’ve got two women snooping about in the tombs. One of them said she knows.’

‘Knows what?’ the man at the other end asked in a quiet, cultured voice. The same person that Milo spoke to earlier.

‘Why the matrix was put in. The end-dates. She also said about not giving something back. Something was taken. They have it, but I don’t know what that means.’

Silence at the other end. The man with the gun didn’t move while Yasmine thought holy fucking fuck, she’d scored a quadruple whammy.

‘Why is Milo dead?’ the soft voice asked. ‘Did they kill him?’

‘I did it. You were right. He wasn’t suitable for the task. He told them about the tombs detaching when we arrive. He kept letting things slip to me, too.’

‘Understood. Take them upstairs and await instructions. I’ll send Petra to you. Kill them both if you have to.’

The call cut out, leaving Yasmine and Sun with no doubt as to what would happen if they put a foot wrong, and Yasmine’s flash of hope started to vanish.

They went back the way they came. Through the room with the shelves with not a word spoken, save for instructions telling them to move so he could access the door scanner.

Into the corridor and down to the next door, heading back to the room where they were dumping the stolen goods. Yasmine thought hard, trying to plan ahead. Trying to figure a way through it.

They went into the last corridor, the door to the old staff room ahead of them, coming closer with every step. The man walking sideways to keep the gun aimed at them. Yasmine looked at it. At the dull, black, squat thing that had killed Milo so easily.

Guns were banned in the fleet. Even the police didn’t have them. Nobody had them. The risk was too high. Any breach of an outside wall could see thousands killed within seconds. Whole sections would rupture and detonate from the pressure. Bulkheads would try to seal with the theory that if one section ruptured it would be sealed off to protect everywhere else, but the ships were constructed over a hundred years ago and nobody had ever tested to see if the compartmental system would actually work. A whole ship might be lost if they failed.

That’s why nobody ever had a gun or set a fire or fucked with an airlock. That’s why the sentences were so high. This guy used the gun without hesitation, but Milo said the walls in the tombs were so thick a nuke wouldn’t get through. That meant the gun could be fired safely in the tombs. The bullets couldn’t go anywhere. But would he risk using it outside of the tombs? Would the fear drilled into every single person in the fleet from birth be the same for him?

You don’t fuck with airlocks.

You never set a fire.

You never use a gun.

Even Dmitri never did those things. In fact, Yasmine had never known anyone to do any of those things, no matter how deranged they were. There was a fire in the Elfors when she was a kid. Deep within the shanty town on Level 40. Everyone rallied. Every gangster. Every hooker, every dealer, every lowlife. Sworn enemies worked side by side to find water and put it out. There was a primal instinct in everyone; a massed survival instinct.

They reached the last door and the man that had been Craggy pressed his band to the scanner. It opened instantly, swishing back, and he moved into the old staff room, waggling the gun at them to follow. Sun stepped through with Yasmine behind her. Penny always said Yasmine’s mind works best when it was under pressure.

‘Keep moving,’ the guy said when Yasmine came to a stop.

‘No.’

Sun stopped to look at her. Not sure of what was happening.

‘I said move!’

‘No,’ Yasmine said. Holding still. Staring at him as he frowned in confusion.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’

She didn’t reply.

‘I said what the fuck are you doing?’ he snapped, coming closer, lifting the gun to aim at her head. ‘I SAID MOVE!’ he shouted out, stepping closer again. Only a few feet away now. Yasmine stayed put. Defiant and unmoving, as Sun swallowed and felt her heart hammering. The tension ramping, the aggression rising. His knuckles turning white from gripping the gun so hard.

‘Did you hear what he said? He said I can kill you. NOW MOVE!’ he screamed it and pushed the barrel into Yasmine’s forehead.

‘We’re not in the tombs, you fucking puta – fire that thing in here and we all die.’

‘Are you actually being serious? A nine mil wouldn’t go through a fucking toilet door, you dumb bitch. The bullet bounces inside the body. It’s designed that way. NOW MOVE!’

Yasmine didn’t know what that meant, but she lifted her chin with righteous defiance as he cursed and turned to fire a round into the boxes stacked in the room. Intending to show he had no fear of using the weapon, but in doing so he left his side unprotected. She moved the split second it fired, using the profound shock of the retort to mask her attack as she lunged to grab the arm holding the gun and got her teeth into his wrist. She bit deep, too. As hard as she could with everything she had, as Sun reacted a second behind her and launched herself at the man’s back, getting her hands around his neck and head, clawing at his eyes while biting his neck. Fighting dirty. Fighting Hutongs and Elfors style, with nails and teeth and knees and elbows. Giving it everything, because if you don’t then you die.

The gun fired again, the man plucking at the trigger from the shock of it – and he was right too, the power wasn’t enough for the round to go through a metal wall, so instead it bounced about and grazed him on the leg while Yasmine kept hold of his arm and dropped her legs, taking him and Sun with her as they bundled to the floor in a seething mess of limbs and grunts. Blood spurted, thick and red. The man fought like a bastard, kicking and punching, but they did the same and there were two of them. Fists hit his head, his eyes, his mouth. They broke his nose. They broke his ribs. They broke his teeth with a frenzied fight to the death. They bit into him until Yasmine got free to rise up and stamp down on the hand holding the gun. It fired again as his fingers broke. He screamed in agony, loosening his grip. Already blinded, overwhelmed by the vicious attack, but Yasmine wasn’t done. The fight wasn’t over, and she snatched the gun up to hold it two-handed, aiming it down at his chest. She pulled the trigger. Felt the awful kick and heard that terrible noise, and the man stopped moving. Blood coming from his mouth and Sun’s hands still on his neck, still choking him. Both of them wild and frenzied. Both wide-eyed and filled with the violence they’d needed to survive.

She moved to Sun, pulling her up to her feet. Both still gasping for air. Grunting and making noises, their ears ringing from the gunshots. The smell of blood and shit and piss in the air. They ran for the stairs and up into the brightly-lit room where the cages were stacked and waiting for shuttles. It seemed a lifetime ago since they were here.

‘We can’t get out,’ Sun said, but Yasmine didn’t hear. The noise of the gun was hurting her ears too much. ‘THE SCANNER. WE CAN’T GET OUT.’ Sun shouted the words as Yasmine nodded fast, understanding dawning. They had to go back and get the man’s wristband – their own bands and ear gels were now crushed back in the tombs.

‘QUICK, IN HERE!’ a female voice shouted from the far end. The sound of people running inside. Sun and Yasmine reacted instantly and ran for the narrow lanes between the cages.

‘MARTINS? MARTINS?’ the woman yelled out. Tall with blonde hair pulled back. Men behind her with guns like the man had. ‘He’s not up here – get down and look.’

Two of the guys ran down the stairs as the woman cursed and looked about the room.

‘PETRA! MARTINS IS DEAD . . .’

Petra ran for the stairs. They all did. All of them running fast as Yasmine and Sun heard the woman shouting, ‘This was recent . . . search it . . . SEARCH IT! I WANT THEM FOUND!’

There was no way out. No bands, no gels, no way through the doors. They were trapped inside.

* * *

She shivers from the cold and wraps her arms about her body, her hands sticky with blood while she stares into the pitch darkness. It’s too cold. She has to move, and she starts groping her way to the top, pushing past the boxes and crates with sharp corners digging into her face and head and sides. She stumbles back down and has to do it again, clawing and fighting to get her hands to the top of the sack, heaving it harder to get her body up and out. Wrenching her belly over the side until enough of her weight is free to drop clear.

Pitch dark. A blackness so profound it makes coloured dots bloom in her vision. She loses all sense of where she in time and space. Fear starts to rise, panic pushing up. A grunt from nearby. A gasp.

She gropes her way over as Sun clambers free from her sack and spills out over the floor, knocking Yasmine over in the process.

‘Where are you?’ Sun cries out, stricken with terror. ‘Yassy!’

‘I’m here,’ Yasmine says, grabbing the girl to pull her in close. The two of them bunched up on the floor, arms wrapped around each other, bodies shivering with cold and fright. Both of them sticky with blood.

It was awful. The whole of it. The all of it. Killing Milo. Killing Craggy, then scrambling to get into the sacks inside the cages those two guys had filled with the goods stolen from the Beijing stores. Sacks big enough for them to sink deep, with boxes and crates hiding them inside, and that was the worst part of all. Being separated and having to stay silent while listening to the searches. Not being able to see. Both of them convinced their pounding hearts would give them away.

Then it got even worse when someone yelled instructions and the cages started moving. Trundling out onto the magnetic strip and down through clunks and clangs. The sound of people yelling and shouting. Over bumps and into a shuttle. The cages moved hard, banging into walls and other cages. Then darkness came as the doors closed, and with it the cold. A deep, awful cold from a day of no food. Energies so depleted it’s all they can do to cling there in the pitch black of a shuttle cargo hold flying through space with no idea of where they are going. With no bands, no gels. No contact, no anything.

Only each other.

47

Thursday Night

The Elfors

‘. . . And I know it sounds like a cliché, but it feels like we’re witnessing history in the making. The speech by Helga Sveinsson has gained a huge reaction from across the whole fleet and the feeling down here is electric right now. Sure, there are a lot of hard questions being thrown at the vice-captain, and I’m not sure the answers being given will ever be enough. How can anyone explain over a hundred and twenty years of human suffering? But that’s for the politicians to sort out. There’s something else I want to tell you. I was invited to cover this event, and, in all honesty, I feared for my safety. I mean, this is the Elfors. The most dangerous place in the whole fleet, where everyone is a murderer and a rapist. Heck, they’ll stab you for your shoes down here, right? But take a look at this . . .’

Rona pans back to show Kristi standing between rows of cabins, all painted with murals and bold colours. Some with flowers, trees and animals. Others with flags from China, Russia, America and other countries, and city skylines from Earth. But it’s the stick-figures that catch the eye. Hundreds of stick-figures adorning each cabin, a tapestry showing the history of the generations that have lived here.

‘I’m on level 38 and does it look familiar to you? They are the same cabins we all have but wow, I wish they were all painted like this. They’ve even got plants growing in the middle and there’s kids everywhere. Running up and down and playing together. You don’t see that in many places now. And look at the people – they’re just normal folk like you and I. Sure, they look and dress differently, but in a way I kind of like it. It’s so different to the fashions we’re told to wear. People here pass their clothes on and learn to fix what they have instead of buying new. And because the heating pipes fluctuate it means they have colder zones and hotter zones, which then creates a need for different clothing. We just don’t see that anywhere else. And you know what else? I’m standing here without security and I do not feel scared. Go right back, Rona – right back! Go on, keep going . . .’

She smiles again as Rona runs back with the camera, showing Kristi alone without security.

‘Let that sink in, folks. I’m in the Elfors standing away from the vice-captain’s security team and I have not been hurt or even threatened. I’ve been offered tea and coffee, and a sweet old lady even brought me a cake to eat and asked if I wanted a chair. Murderers and rapists, folks. The whole lot of them. I’m Kristi Carter for FleetNewsCast, live from the Elfors on the worldship Humility wishing you all a pleasant evening – and you know what, folks? I think I might just go and eat that cake . . . you take care.’

‘We’re all done,’ Penny calls as Kristi walks back to join them at the stairwell. ‘Got everything you need?’

‘God no, I think you could spend a year down here and not get everything. What a day, though.’

‘I know, right,’ Penny says. ‘And that speech. Are the figures high for it?’

‘Are you joking? It’s number two in the trends behind ‘Dance For The Light’ – speaking of which, I want that interview.’

‘You keep saying that,’ Penny says with a laugh. ‘Just say when.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Kristi says, waving a hand. ‘I think I’m still hungover from last night.’

‘Kristi? Happy with everything?’ Helga asks.

‘It’s been a remarkable experience, vice-captain. Honestly, I have to be impartial but, I mean, just look at this place. It’s so . . . urgh, I don’t even know what it is. I want to say real? – but that’s patronising. Anyway, Councillor Shariff? How has it been for you with the first political visit to the Elfors?’

Abdul shrugs, still trying to think and feel his way through a situation which is changing so rapidly. ‘It’s a first step. Let’s just say that.’

‘Long way to go yet,’ Helga adds, sharing a look with him. ‘But anyway. Thank you again, Kristi. I’m sure Colin will escort you safely to the elevator.’

The day comes to an end and the party splits up with Kristi and Rona escorted to the elevator by Colin. ‘You’re all on Level 20, aren’t you?’ he asks while accessing the interface.

‘Please,’ Rona says.

‘Actually,’ Kristi says, stepping back out. ‘I’ll walk. I need to call in on a friend.’

Rona frowns then shrugs, still not giving a shit what Kristi Carter does off camera.

Kristi heads off through the guard station, the pressure there now slightly reduced after Helga’s executive order to allow registered Elforists to pass through for work. There’s still a vibe in the air, though. An ugly one.

She steps off the platform and walks along the row of cabins with a funny feeling inside. Not nerves – in truth, she’s not entirely sure what it is, or what it means. But then maybe she’s doing that reporter thing and looking for meaning where there’s none to be found.

She stops to press her band at the scanner as the woman next door comes out of her own cabin. ‘Hey love, got this for you,’ she says, holding a small box out.

She walks off, leaving Kristi holding the package, with a holo label glowing over the top.

Ms K. Carter. Cabin 39. Row H. Level 34

It looks so odd like that. So ordinary and normal. Not Kristi Carter from the news, but Ms K. Carter, and she can’t help but smile when she presses her band to the scanner and the door to Zhang Woo’s cabin swishes open.

She steps inside, holding the box and feeling strange. That she’s here, in his place. It smells of him, too. His scent still lingers in the air. She has to remind herself there’s no other meaning to it and he’s just giving her a place to sleep so she can escape the hotel room.

‘Play last playlist,’ she calls out, wanting to know what he listens to, but also testing to see if he’s added her to his interface. He has and the music kicks in as she pulls a face at his awful taste in old Earth country songs.

She sits on his sofa and places the box on the coffee table, pressing her band near the AI seal, which clicks as the lid pops up. A silken wrap inside. She frowns and peels it back before bursting out laughing at the sports bra within as a holo message blooms up from the box interface.

They Don’t own Your Body x

It’s a nice one, too. Expensive and inlaid with an AI mesh that tightens when it detects motion to gently pull the breasts in.

It brings a tear to her eye. The thought of it. The act of it. This simple gift from a man remembering a conversation about something she said she needed. She coughs, feeling stupid. Silly. Smiling and trying not to cry while shaking her head as she puts the bra on and hops a few steps over to his coffee machine. Feeling the AI gently tighten the cupping. ‘Latte.’ She orders the drink and bounces a few more times until she remembers he only has a cheap machine.

‘Ah,’ she says with a thought, and heads to his sofa to sit back with her feet on his table. Listening to his music. Drinking his coffee from his beaker, and she swipes to get online. Into the Amazon store. Into the coffee machines while working out which one he would like.

A buzz on her band. She tuts, thinking it’s the studio. It’s not and she swipes quickly.

‘Hey,’ he says in that way of his, with his eyes absorbing her. Staring only at her, like nothing else exists. She has that every day when she’s on air, but this is different somehow.

‘Hey,’ she says back, trying to sound casual but the smile still touches her lips.

‘You get in okay?’

‘Haha! You know I did. Your system just pinged you and said I was in.’

‘You got me,’ he says while smiling into the camera and walking somewhere.

‘And look,’ she says, twisting the view to show her on his sofa, drinking his coffee, wearing the new sports bra he bought for her. ‘I love it!’

‘Jesus,’ he says, glancing once and looking away sharply.

‘Sorry! I forgot,’ she says, moving the camera away from her bust. ‘My bad.’

‘It’s cool. I’ve got to learn to control it. Does it fit okay?’

‘Listen, buster. We’re not even going to go there on how you know my size from all the boobs you’ve handled. You’re on a roll, so don’t blow it. But hey, honestly, thank you.’

‘Welcome. Help yourself to whatever you need. The shower’s hacked too.’

‘No way!’

‘Go nuts. Er, but listen. Something’s come up.’

‘Go on,’ she says, detecting a serious tone to his voice, and she watches as he seems to get a bit nervous. Pushing his hair back then scratching his jaw. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Yeah, er, so my mission has been cancelled. Which sounds way more dramatic than it needs to, but yeah. I’ve been called home.’

‘Home? You mean here home?’

‘Yeah. I’m going for the shuttle now.’

‘Wow. Er. Okay, sure sure, understood. I’ll clear out and—’

‘I didn’t mean that, Kristi,’ he says as she starts sitting up. ‘I mean. You said you hate the hotel and it’ll take me a while to get back and, er . . . the sofa’s there. I can sleep on that.’

‘Sofa,’ she says, nodding at it.

‘Er, so . . . yeah, no rush.’

‘Okay,’ she says slowly, easing back down to relax. ‘Soooo, I can stay?’

‘If you want to,’ he says lightly. ‘If it helps.’

‘You’re such a shit, Zhang Woo. You so want me here for when you get back! Don’t give me those eyes. Go on, admit it.’

‘Whatever,’ he says, laughing at her teasing. ‘I’ll kip down somewhere else.’

‘Don’t you dare. Come home so we can stand opposite each other and pretend we’re on holo and masturbate again.’

‘Shush!’ he says, looking about as he walks through a packed lane. ‘Okay, cool. Is there anything you need? Food or anything? Anything I can get for you?’

‘No,’ she says, frowning gently at him. ‘I’m good. But thank you for asking, that means a lot.’

‘Cool. Er, great then. I’ll call when I’m close. See if you want food or something. Maybe, you know, we can watch a movie if it’s not too late.’

‘I’d love that. It sounds nice. Oh, and FYI, I’m buying you a new coffee machine.’

‘Don’t buy me a coffee machine.’

‘That thing is shit.’

‘Shush, you’ll hurt its feelings.’

‘Whatever. Hurry home, honey. I’ll have your dinner waiting for you!’

She cuts the call, wondering what the fucketty-fuck just happened. It’s Zhang Woo. The detective who found Mahatma. What about her career? What about finding things out and Mahatma not being in two places at once? What about all of that? Dear god. What is she doing in here?

A second later and the burst of adrenalin burns out as she waggles her arms and legs on the sofa, feeling like a teenager about to meet her first crush.

Fuck that. Fuck Mahatma. Fuck the robbery and the Elfors and the Finance offices. Fuck the protests and Helga and Abdul. To hell with it all, and even her career can kiss her backside, because she’s not Kristi Carter tonight. She’s Ms K. Carter. Cabin 39. Row H. Level 34, and for whatever multitude of reasons born from being on this grotty ship, that is giving her a thrill more than anything else.

So fuck it all, because Zhang Woo is coming home.

* * *

Helga steps from the stairwell with a glance back to see Kristi and Rona being escorted by Colin. It’s been a chaotic day with everything happening so fast, but within all of that chaos a fragile plan was formed. It came to her last night when she was holding the flexi-pipe in Abdul’s office – a sequence of thoughts and images that all culminated in the formation of an idea.

But it had to be done right, and the first thing was to apply pressure to Pierre to make him react. She did that by taking Abdul and his security into her office to humiliate the captain. Then she pushed back all day with speeches and using the café as a base. She got Sam to make adverts that destroyed the other hacker’s paltry attempts. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to do more and it had to be done faster. That’s why she made the speech she did, to push Pierre into a corner. To make him call for federal assistance, because she needed that threat and pressure to make it all work.

She accepts the plan is fragile and there is every chance she will fail. In fact, she’s not even sure any of it will work, but right now she’s fresh out of options and anyway the buzz of it all is giving her a pleasure she hasn’t felt for years.

They head back to Abdul’s offices, everyone else going off to get drinks while she excuses herself to use the bathroom, which she notices has been scrubbed clean since she arrived. The door closed and locked, and she swipes her system to make a call while keeping the holo feed small and the volume low.

‘What’s up?’ Zhang asks when it connects. ‘You look better.’

‘Don’t get familiar with me, detective, I’ll have you thrown from an airlock.’

‘By who? I’m your henchman. Do I throw myself from one?’

She gives him a stern look with both showing humour in their eyes. A difference in their energy now – not so much evil overlord and subdued underling. ‘I need you to come back, Zhang.’

‘What about this?’ he asks.

‘The situation here is developing and I need you back. Stop that look, Zhang. You’ll get your revenge, I promise. But we have to be fluid. I’ll explain when you get here.’

He pauses for a second, not understanding a word of it, but then he also hasn’t seen hint of either Sam or Yasmine all day. And Kristi Carter is staying in his cabin tonight. In fact, he just got the ping through to say she’s there now. Kristi Carter. In his cabin. So, yeah, the revenge can wait. ‘Okay,’ he says with a firm nod. ‘I’ll head back now.’

‘I was expecting more of a fight,’ she says.

‘I told you. I hate this ship.’

‘Call me as soon as you arrive.’

She cuts the call and heads out from the bathroom into the main office to see Abdul behind his desk with his feet up. He starts moving but she waves for him to stay where he is and heads over to pour herself a shot of whisky. ‘Drink, Penny?’

‘I’m on tea after last night, but thank you, Vice-Captain.’

‘Call me Helga when it’s just us.’

‘Thanks,’ Penny says. She likes Helga, too. She doesn’t trust her one Elfor inch, but she does quite like her. ‘Happy with today then?’ Penny asks Abdul, taking her tea over to the sofas while hoping Abdul and Helga didn’t play hide the sausage on one of them. She peers at the material for signs of dirty happenings, but the sofas are so old you could murder someone on them and not see anything. ‘Are you, then?’ she asks again as she chooses what looks to be a cleanish spot.

‘I said yes,’ he replies. ‘Or, I may have nodded. Either way. Yes. That speech has certainly created something,’ he adds, watching Helga kick her shoes off and join Penny on the sofa. The same one he and Helga played hide the sausage on last night.

He still doesn’t quite get it. There’s more at play here. He doesn’t trust Helga one Elfor inch. But then, as Abdul has learnt in life, there’s always more to the story. The secret to success is choosing to ignore what isn’t relevant, and seizing the opportunities as they present. And Helga is certainly dangling a golden carrot.

‘Well. We shall see what tomorrow brings,’ Helga says. ‘Speaking of which, we need to start thinking about your trip tomorrow. In fact, let’s get Janey on a call now and get planning.’

‘What now?’ Abdul asks in great alarm at the prospect of having to do more work.

‘Yes, now. Unless you want to go and drink Elfor Juice and leave it to Penny and me.’

‘I think she was joking, boss,’ Penny says as Abdul heads for the door. ‘Boss! She was joking . . . Oh my god, he’s actually gone. I’m so sorry, Helga.’

‘Don’t be. Abdul has strengths, but I think we know who runs this ship,’ she says with a wink. ‘Right, shoes off Penny and do have a drink with me. I hate drinking alone. And we’ll need to speak to Sam too and get him thinking. We’ll need a big Pretty Boy special for this . . .’

‘I think he’ll be busy right now,’ Penny says, noticing the time and figuring Yasmine will go nuts if she calls Sam now with more work talk. ‘I’ll holo him in the morning.’

* * *

Sam, however, is not busy. He sits alone, trying not to think of the messages he was sent earlier, or the video with Yasmine kissing Dmitri that’s on constant replay in his mind.

Sam isn’t the jealous type, and he would never seek to possess Yasmine in a manner that suggested she was not entitled to a life before him. Sam isn’t driven by his dick either, but he has been sharing a growing closeness with a woman who has repeatedly got him to do things for her, and who he’s only kissed once. And only because he initiated it, and she seemed to freeze up too. Sam thought it was nerves at the time, but now he’s not so sure. Now he imagines it was repulsion making her react that way.

The messages were right. Sam has been used from start to end, and if that were a lie, then where are they now?

Nobody has called him. He hasn’t heard a word since Beaky’s ‘Dance For The Light’ clip went out and they all said how great it was. Which was nice, but nothing after that. Then he got confused and thought why would they call him? It was just a clip he made for them. Then he reminded himself that the café advert, the Nazi clip and now the new Beaky tutu video were all in the top of the trends. He did that for them. For Abdul. For Penny. For their cause. Millions of people across the whole fleet were reacting to it, which was amazing, and Sam didn’t do it for fame – but to get nothing? Not anything. Not a word.

He’s jacked his career. Probably lost his cabin. Committed a serious crime and helped steal a code, and now he’s making content the whole fleet loves and he hasn’t even been paid. Not a single credit. Nothing.

He heard from Yasmine of course, but she was in yet another frantic dilemma where she didn’t have time to stop and chat or do anything other than get what she needed.

The door hacking code he wrote for her was strong, too. His own skills are getting better now he’s using them again, and he even felt guilty after he sent it. He thought to call and get it back with the sudden idea that his work was being used to commit further crimes. And for what? For a trip to the Ab-Spa? For time with Yasmine where nothing would happen?

It's not just about the sex, either. It’s about attention and her wanting to spend time with him. She even ran off to the Ark without him and she kept telling everyone he shouldn’t be left alone and he wasn’t capable of looking after himself.

He’s not like us. He’s not an Elforist. Which Sam translates to he’s not Dmitri. But it’s okay for him to make chart-topping content for them all. The kind of content a top-end agency would charge a hundred k for at the very least.

He hasn’t even heard from Yasmine since he sent the hacking code. Nothing at all, and it’s late now. Night has come and his own girlfriend isn’t interested in what he made. Or what he’s doing. Or where he is. None of them are. Not Abdul, not Penny. And they won’t be either until they want another advert or something they can use.

The crushing loneliness he’s felt since childhood comes back, but stronger than before. Far stronger, because for a few days he stupidly believed he had friends and had found a family.

Now he looks across to the cabin front. The one his mom and dad used when they were on rotation.

The plan was for them to get permanent contracts, move over here and bring Sam with them so he could attend school and live on the Ark. Now they’re dead and all he has are a few vague memories.

He tries to picture them walking through this area, but his memories of them come from watching holo-clips and he can’t transfer that imagery to here in his mind.

He looks at the things around him and tries to imagine his mom and dad seeing them too. The seating area he’s using. The walls. The floor. He tries to find a connection through those things, but there’s just nothing there. Just an empty space denoting the years between their death and now.

He doesn’t want to go back to the room he used last night either. The only problem is he doesn’t have any credits to book anywhere else, or even enough left to buy a beaker of coffee. He used the last of his savings to buy the flight here. But then Yasmine didn’t even want him to come to the Ark, and his cheeks burn with shame that he followed her over here when she was probably trying to get away from him.

In his mind that makes him a creep and his skin crawls with the idea that his affections were never wanted. That Yasmine was only ever tolerating him because she was still in love with her ex. And the messages were right about that too, because Sam can never compete with Dmitri. He just doesn’t have that aura. That animalistic badness. He doesn’t like fighting or hurting people. He just makes stupid videos with coffee beakers in tutus. Immature and infantile.

Time passes slowly with only his empty past coming back to tell him he will always be alone, and his cheeks burn with shame once more because in his mind he was going to bring Yasmine here and show her where his mom and dad lived. He feels so stupid. Like a naïve fool that was being laughed at. A simple airlock worker dragged into this crazy world by fast-thinking people who only tolerate him for what he can do, not who he is.

A call on his system. He glances down, expecting it to be Penny or one of them, but the ID is unknown. He cuts it off and sighs heavily, sinking lower on the seat. Dejected, rejected. Lost and forlorn. Hungry too. The call comes again. The same ID. He rejects it but it comes back within seconds, so he swipes to answer while staring out at nothing without any trace of passion or life. With a great hurting emptiness inside.

‘Are you okay?’ the caller asks, a woman’s voice with an accent and he glances at it to see someone leaning in close to the holo call. ‘You look sad. Are you okay?’

He looks at her without speaking. Taking in her long dark hair and the look of concern in her soft brown eyes.

‘Are you Pretty Boy? I had to ask about for your ID. I hope that is okay, and I want to promise you that I deeply respect your work, and your anonymity.’ He listens to her voice. To the lilting Indian accent of Chi-Chi. The most famous woman in the fleet right now. ‘And I am sorry I kept calling you, but I am very determined when I want something.’

Sam tries to offer a polite smile while feeling his heart break a little bit more from someone else calling because they want something. ‘How can I help?’

‘Well. I wanted to say thank you. ‘Dance For The Light’ is number one in the charts again, but really my thanks is for the video you made. For the work you are doing to help the Elfors. I admire that, Sam. May I call you Sam? I’m Chimara by the way. I’m from the Bustees and your work for the Elfors has resonated with me . . .’ She trails off, staring into the holo at Sam’s features as she smiles slowly with a light flush in her cheeks. ‘But oh my, I was not expecting this.’

‘Expecting what?’

‘I can see why they call you Pretty Boy,’ she says with a gentle laugh. ‘You are very handsome, and your eyes, they are so kind.’ She leans in closer, studying his features, and sees he’s on a bench on his own somewhere, and her smile fades as the concern comes back. ‘You are at the top of every trending chart in the fleet, but you are sitting alone looking sad.’

He doesn’t reply but just dips his head a little and glances off to one side, at his mom and dad’s cabin.

‘Fame can be lonely, Sam. Everyone wants something from you, but they don’t want you, only what you can give them. May I make a bold assumption?’ She pauses to let him reply but only gets a soft smile in return. ‘People are asking a great deal from you, yes? They have seen what you can do. I think I know how you are feeling right now. It happened to me too, Sam. Are you on the Ark? Would you like me to come to you?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes fill with moisture from the kindness of her words.

‘Or you can come here. I don’t want anything from you. I promise. We can just talk. Is there anything you need?’

‘I’m okay. I’m fine. But thank you. That’s very kind,’ he says, clearing his throat and offering a smile.

‘Sure,’ she says, still frowning at him. ‘But I did tell a lie. There is something I want from you.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Why did you put Beaky in a tutu to my song?’ she tries to sound stern and jab a finger but breaks off into a laugh. ‘You made me cry when I saw it! Ah, but look at your smile,’ she adds as his soft easy grin comes back. ‘It lights you up from the inside. Anyway. Stop distracting me. Tutu. Beaky. My song. Explain yourself, mister.’

His smile grows wider as he becomes aware of who she is. She’s Chi-Chi, the most famous singer in the fleet, but she seems so normal. So real too, and her nose crinkles when she laughs. ‘I am interested in you, Sam. I want to know about you. Tell me. Unless you are busy of course?’

‘I’m not busy at all.’

‘Good.’ She smiles again, and he watches as she lies down on her side on something soft and smiles at him. ‘Talk to me, Sam. Tell me about the tutu and your ideas . . . tell me who you are. I want to hear your dreams . . .’

* * *

Night comes once more to the fleet. The lights dim. The airflow grows cooler and the souls trapped within the walls live their lives forever held in the orbits of their own troubles and desires and needs and wants. Their own fears and angers. Their own sense of right and wrong.

And in one place within that fleet, that sense of wrong grows harder with every passing hour. The Elfors are changing. The energy is being shaped and used, and all because of one speech given by a woman with a burning knot of hate in her gut, to get back at the man who bent her over a desk and said she was old.

* * *

‘This is Kristi Carter live from the Humility, where, as promised, you are about to witness Helga Sveinsson entering the Elfors to conduct the first official visit from a politician in as long as anyone can remember. Let’s follow the action as Helga Sveinsson gets ready to go in . . .’

Kristi steps aside to let the camera film Helga walking out from the tense, charged air of the Level 37 guard station to the platform and an even more tense and ultra-charged air. She doesn’t pause to make a speech to the hundreds of sullen faces glaring at her but instead heads straight to a giant of a man with a misshapen nose and an unkempt straggly beard. His thick brow furrows when she stops in front of him and holds her hand out.

‘I’m Helga,’ she says. He looks down at her hand for a second before wiping his palm on the seat of his pants and taking the handshake. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ivan,’ he says. But then Helga knows he’s called Ivan already because Helga isn’t stupid and there was no way in hell she was going to risk walking in and looking like an idiot.

‘You look familiar,’ she says with a frown. ‘Are you related to Olga by any chance?’

‘She’s my cousin,’ he replies, having been prepped after getting a call from Penny.

‘Of course! I can see it. Olga was very kind to me last night.’ She moves in a little and pretends to whisper while knowing every word is carrying out. ‘I snuck in late last night to see what it was like on my own and Olga was kind enough to show me about.’

That gets a few murmurs going with people glancing at each other and shuffling to see better. ‘You came in here?’ someone asks, pointing at the floor. ‘On your own?’

‘I did,’ Helga replies before turning towards the guard station. ‘Faiza?’

‘Ma’am,’ Faiza says, presenting smartly after having also been prepped by Penny.

‘When did you last see me?’ Helga asks.

‘Last night, ma’am. You came through on your own.’

‘Fucking no way,’ someone mutters and the low chat spreads out. A few murmurs and nothing more, but it’s the opening Helga needed to work a route into what she knew would be a hostile crowd.

‘We’ve always been told politicians are not welcome here,’ Helga says. ‘So, last night I came in to see why, and do you know what I saw? I saw people living their lives. Not monsters. Not beasts, and certainly not scum or terrorists. I even called in on Abdul. But anyway. Ivan, thank you for speaking to me.’

‘When do I get paid?’ Ivan asks as Abdul bursts out laughing and claps him on the shoulder.

‘That’s right. Everyone here is being paid. The whole thing is a set-up. Vice-Captain let me introduce Ferdy. He owns the Hocus Pocus.’

‘Ma’am, thanks for coming down. Are we allowed questions?’

‘Please do. I am here to answer what I can,’ she calls out, turning to look at the crowd.

‘If they close Neon we’re all fuck . . . I mean, the whole Elfors will be ruined. Are they really going to move it to Level 30?’

‘Ferdy, ask her about Stella,’ someone calls.

‘Do they know who did it?’ someone else asks.

‘We’re fucked if they shut Neon,’ a shout from somewhere else.

Helga stands her ground while engulfed on all sides by Elforists venting their anger. It’s terrifying, but this is exactly where she needs to be.

‘Why aren’t they letting us up to work yet?’ a woman yells, louder than the others as she shoves grown men aside to get in front of Helga.

‘Guys, hang on,’ Ferdy calls.

‘Fuck you, Ferdy, we’re not all club owners. Stella was a mate of mine. We’re sick of this. I was there when Erik’s missus told Stella’s kids she’s not coming back . . .’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Helga says.

‘What’s sorry going to do?’

‘Svetty, ask her when we’re getting sealed in,’ a man shouts from behind the woman.

‘Svetty,’ another man says, leaning through the crowd to tap the angry woman on the shoulder. ‘Ask her why registered people ain’t allowed up.’

‘Hang on! I’m asking her about Stella first. Her eldest heard his mom’s name on his holo and knows she got lynched.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Helga says with a hand to her mouth at the horror of it. ‘That’s dreadful.’

‘We ain’t rats,’ Svetty says. Anger in her features and her voice breaks with emotion. ‘Stella wasn’t no rat. She didn’t deserve that.’

‘Nobody deserves that,’ Helga says. ‘I don’t know who killed Stella. I’m sorry. I truly am. Everyone I’ve spoken to has told me what an incredible woman she was. But I’m also sorry that Mahatma and Randolph died and I’m sorry the Finance offices were robbed. I could also tell you I’m sorry you’re sealed in. And I could say I’m sorry that you’ve had it so bad, but they’re just empty words now. This has gone on for too long and the awful truth is that those deaths will not be the last because Captain Jefferson wants to put a hard border on that stairwell and move Neon City to Level 30. If he wins the election and gains majority backing within the council those things will happen. I could apologise for all of that. But what good would it do? And to my own shame I sat on that council for many years and . . . and I should have argued more. I should have stood up for you more than I did. You’ve been failed. There’s no hiding from that.’

A moment in time, and Helga knows that what she does now counts for everything. How she handles it. What she says. How she appears. The tone of her voice. The expression on her face. She makes herself think of the shuttle crash and the friends she lost. She makes herself think of Pierre’s hands on her throat and being pinned over her desk, because she knows the emotions will reflect on her face. Pain and hurt. Regret and loss. Anger and a sense of injustice. They all show, and it’s a hard thing to watch.

‘Can you all hear me?’ Helga calls out. She pushes through the crowd to the platform to gain height. ‘I need you to hear me. Pierre is a powerful man and there are some very strong forces at work . . .’

Abdul tenses, his own senses ramped from everything going on as he tries to think his way through it all, and see the direction Helga is going in.

‘The awful truth is that a great many people profit from the Elfors being kept as they are. You are hated, but that hatred comes from a place of profit because if you gain registration, they think you will flood the ship with cheap labour and disrupt the balance and flow of credits. They have kept you here for generations, so they have someone to blame for every crisis that happens. A theft takes place. It must be an Elfor. Someone gets murdered. It must be an Elfor. Profits are down in the retail zone. Blame the Elfors. Prices are going up. Blame the Elfors. But the irony is that while they locked you away you built something incredible. You created Neon City! The simple fact of the matter is they don’t want you. They want that.’

She points towards the lights of the city beyond them.

‘And they will take it from you. They will steal what you’ve worked for. Those powerful men and their powerful forces will blame you for every bad thing so they can take that from you.’

Fuck me, Kristi mouths, stunned at the speech, and the absolute brazen truth spilling from Helga as she takes a step higher.

‘Stella was killed in an awful way. And I’m sorry to tell you this, but the truth is that she was killed for a reason. Because they want you to fight back. They want to provoke you so you charge the stairs and riot so they can call in federal assistance and flood this ship with highly trained officers who will beat you back down and seal you in.

‘Stella’s death is being used against you. That awful terrible crime is being weaponized, the same way Mahatma’s death has been used to whip the protesters up. The same way the robbery is. Those forces want those protesters making noise and chanting. They want mobs running through the retail zone. They want every store to ban Elforists and they are doing all of those things to back you into a corner and make you riot. Make no mistake about it. They want you to charge this stairwell, and the more damage you do the better it will be, because they will turn every voter against you. Those forces will regain complete control, and once that’s done you are finished. They call you scum so voters are scared of you. Who gave you the right to be on this ship? That’s the message they’re selling. That is what they want every voter to think, and that is why you are being provoked to riot. So riot, then! Charge the stairs! I’ll tell you now, if you go then I will go with you. I’ve picked my side and there is no going back for me. I will never be accepted on that council again. For better or worse. Your fight is my fight to the bitter end, and I will be with Abdul. We’ll do it together and we’ll take this ship from engine to bow. And when they come for us – which they will, in numbers too great to fight, with weapons too great to withstand – we’ll go down together. All of us. And then we’ll be dragged back down to be locked in. And we will starve. And this suffering you have now will be a thousand times worse.’

She stops to draw air, and across the fleet businesses grind to a halt and offices fall silent. In the packed lanes of the Beijing. In the eateries and bars. In Ghost Street. In Confucius Square. In the café on the Humility. Helga’s form glowing from thousands of feeds. Helga’s voice booming out.

‘But there is another way! Because it is the right of every living creature to fight for survival. That’s what your ancestors did. They fought to live, and you have all been punished for that. But with the support of the fleet we can gain amnesty. We can gain registration for all of you and the Elfors will be free. And that place right there,’ she points again towards Neon City, ‘will be yours and the credits will flow, and those credits will give you schools and medical services and your own police. You will get education and your grav-drives will be fixed. But we have to be smart and we cannot do what they expect us to do . . .’ Another pause. Another second to draw air.

‘If you charge, I charge with you, and so help me god I swear I will be the first up those stairs with a flexi-pipe in each hand, but all I ask, all I beg of you, is to give me and Abdul one last chance before we do that. Let us try—’

‘You’ve had a hundred and twenty fucking years—’

‘You’re right!’ Helga shouts, pointing at the man yelling out. ‘They’ve failed you. We’ve failed you. And there is no reason to trust me, but as of right now I am still the vice-captain of this ship. I still have the power to make executive orders, and I am hereby ordering that registered workers in the Elfors be allowed up to work. Effective immediately.’

The shock spreads out. Relief on some of their faces. Others reeling from the power of everything Helga said. Others rendered silent from that searing energy making the hairs stand up on the backs of necks, and to the last none of them realise it was Helga who ordered the closures on in the first place.

She steps from the platform to walk back into the crowd and certainly a good number view her with the suspicion born from generations of distrust, but enough come forward to be a part of this. To get carried along by that energy, and she takes it with good grace, holding their hands in hers and sharing words, because there’s no going back from this.

Pierre is too strong, and he has too many generals. He’s got Jean and Dom Patel and the other councillors. He’s also got Sully Singh and the other captains in his pocket because he can blackmail them about the code.

There’s no way Helga could fight something that big on her own. She’d already experienced his power when he came into her office.

She needed a plan. She needed more numbers. She needed her own army and right here, surrounding her on all sides, is an army in waiting. An army that already has a general in Abdul.

All they needed was a cause to fight for and a queen to lead them into the chaos. And all she needs is to make it happen.

48

Friday morning

Cabin 39, Row H, Level 34

The Humility

Kristi drinks the espresso grade 4 ordered from the new coffee machine, delivered and installed last night, and the old one taken away for recycling. It’s good coffee, too. She spent out and ordered some of the nicer synth stuff. The only problem is, Zhang isn’t here to try it. He never came back.

She messaged him, of course. Quite a few times in fact.

Hey, how’s it going? Are you on a shuttle yet?

* * *

Zhang! The new machine is here. Oh my gosh she’s beautiful. She’s like our first baby.

* * *

Say goodbye to the old machine! But don’t cry. It’s going to a happier home (the crusher mwahahaha).

* * *

I’m having hot chocolate from the new machine. Honestly. Just honestly. You will be thanking me for this. With sex.

* * *

Hey, so I was joking about the baby thing if that’s scared you off haha!

* * *

Okay, buster. It’s late. Where are you? I tried calling???

* * *

Zhang? It’s getting late. Answer my calls.

* * *

Hey! Zhang.

* * *

I’m going to sleep. I hope you’re okay but if you’ve stood me up to fuck someone else I will rip your dick off and never talk to you again.

* * *

You know what, I’m actually worried.

* * *

Okay. It’s morning. You’re not here. What the fuck? You haven’t opened any of my messages.

* * *

Do I call someone? I mean, is there like a missing cop hotline or something? Should I ask Jorgey Raynor? I’m worried, Zhang.

Nothing. Not one of them has been opened. None of her calls have connected either. His band is still on and the messages are getting to him, but they’re not being opened.

Normally she would be furious and denouncing him as a complete shit. But she’s actually worried. Zhang is many things, but he always answers her calls and messages. They even messaged a few times yesterday. Just idle chit chat. That’s when he mentioned about using his cabin again, and he even sent a picture of himself eating a synth pastry when she asked if he’d had food. She sent one back from the Elfors saying, Guess where I am?

Now nothing. But what can she do? And today is already promising to be even crazier than yesterday.

She downs the coffee and checks her reflection, adjusting another one of his shirts. A worry in her eyes, and an unsettled feeling inside. She sets off to work as Kasim calls her about yesterday and how amazing the figures are.

‘The Elfor visit was great. And Helga’s speech! Fuck me. That’s going to have a huge impact, so stay on it and get to the protest sites. They’ve doubled in size overnight. We need more interviews, too. And stick close to Helga. She’s trending like crazy. And Abdul. People want to see more of him. And Penny. Try and get Penny on air. People are asking about the gorgeous woman that’s always behind him. And that Clara woman, the bodyguard? She’s also trending, especially with Pretty Boy using her voice on his clips. And Pretty Boy! Get that interview with him. We need it today. And get into the retail zone to show how normal people are responding. And try to get into the Elfors again.’

Kristi would normally respond with a quip about giving her a steering wheel and she’ll fly the damn ship too, except this time she doesn’t. ‘Sure, will do,’ she says instead and cuts the call.

Up to Level 30 and out into the charged, angry air as she heads over to the first protest at the main stairwell. Kasim was right – it’s more than doubled in size with no sign of letting up. She quickly spots new adverts in the air. Good ones, too – high-end clips showing the violence from a week ago. The fight by this very stairwell. The terrified workers coming out of the Finance offices. Randolph’s body being found. His face is pixelated but that somehow makes it worse. Like raw and very real. Another clip brings her to a stop. Footage on a loop, taken from Mahatma Goudier’s friends and family. All the images carefully chosen to show Mahatma smiling and laughing and pulling cute faces. Sad music playing over the top with captions in quote marks flashing up.

‘She was my best friend.’

‘I miss her every day.’

‘I loved her so much. I always will.’

‘Saint fucking Goudier,’ Kristi murmurs while also feeling a weird pang of jealousy at the thought of Zhang fucking her. Mahatma was stunning. How does Kristi compare? Does Zhang even think like that? Where the hell is he anyway?

She heads off through the retail zone and spots smaller groups protesting outside stores refusing to display Anti-Elfor signs. Managers telling them to fuck off. Cops arguing in the middle. Passers-by by joining in, some anti, some pro. A feeling of division that’s so different to the last week because it’s not one-sided now. It’s not all Anti-Elfor. The Pro-Elfor side is coming out in increasing numbers. Pretty Boy’s clips have worked. They’ve reached the other mass audiences, younger and more liberal. The workers and earners. Those not so bitter, and people who have fallen in love with Beaky and now see him as a cause.

‘Fuck me,’ she mouths as she reaches the second protest site by the café. It looks bigger than the one by the stairwell, with another solid wall of people chanting under the same clips of Saint Goudier and the violence from last Friday. That on its own is a shocking enough sight, but it’s the other crowd that draws the eye.

A huge gathering of people spilling out from the café walkway. Dozens and dozens, and more arriving every minute.

It’s an impressive sight too, because Elforists look so different. They don’t wear the fashions of everywhere else and they look harder. Bigger. Meaner and tougher. Bright and vivacious, bold and colourful – and Kristi spots Carla Big Lips wearing a bright pink catsuit with Honey the Money and Lick Lick Suck dressed similarly, alongside a group of blushing students and more working girls and working men. Off-duty bouncers and security. Hawkers and traders all mixed in with normal people. Punters from Neon City. Men who have married Elforist wives. Employers and colleagues that work alongside Elfor folk and have made friends with them. Students and professionals. The old and the young.

It’s Helga’s speech – it’s galvanised them. It’s given them a cause, and this is their rallying point. Like a battleground where the two sides can gather to face off before the bloodshed starts. That’s exactly what it looks like to Kristi, and the air is so charged too.

‘Kristi!’ Penny shouts out, motioning her over to the café.

‘Hey, come on!’ Johnny Johnson calls as Kristi walks through the packed journalists. ‘She’s not the only reporter here!’

It’s just as busy inside – a frenzy of activity in every direction, and again that contrast is so stark. Elforists alongside normal people. Sharing tables, talking in groups or couples. Kasim was right: people want to know about the Elfors. It’s been a hidden world for so long and, in a way, Kristi feels a sudden rush of sadness that the Elfors might lose that incredible uniqueness. Maybe it’s not so much that the fleet has been protected from them, but the Elfors have been protected from the dire blandness of the rest of the fleet.

‘Hey! You good?’ Penny asks, rushing over to guide her along the walkway to the rear storeroom as Kristi spots a hand-written sign on the door.

Helga’s HQ

A simple metal desk at the far end with Helga behind it, and Janey, now in a smart business suit, at another desk with interfaces open in front of her. Abdul standing with a beaker of coffee and his foot up on a chair, talking to Colin and Clara. People coming and going, voices calling out.

‘Ferdy! How’s it looking?’ Janey says, opening another holo call as the owner of the Hocus Pocus blooms up.

‘We’re good, Janey. I’ve got some stunners ready to go with us.’

‘They need to be switched on too, Ferdy. It’s not just about how they look,’ Janey says.

‘Has anyone got hold of Pretty Boy yet?’ Helga calls from the end as people say no and shake heads, Kristi notices how well Helga has adapted to the new environment. Like one of those lizard things from Earth that could change colour. ‘We need to counter that Saint Goudier crap. And you did not hear me say that, Kristi,’ Helga adds.

Kristi waves a hand in response while absorbing the chaos as she leans in closer to Penny. ‘Hey, Pen, er, can I ask you a question? Like in confidence.’

‘Yeah. Definitely, what’s up?’

‘You haven’t heard from Zhang, have you, by any chance? It’s just . . . well, we’ve been messaging a bit and he didn’t reply. He was on the Beijing and . . .’

‘He’s on the Beijing?’

‘Yeah. Been there all week, working on something. We’ve been chatting and now he’s gone dark. I wondered if you’d heard anything?’

‘We’ve been trying to get hold of some people and they’re not responding either,’ Penny says. ‘In fact, two of them are showing offline and Pretty Boy is getting our messages but not responding. We figured it’s probably overload.’

Kristi nods, thinking Penny is probably right. It’s New Year and the Beijing will be packed from stern to bow with everyone on the net at the same time. They had the same problem a few years ago with networks crashing from simply being overwhelmed.

Penny turns away too, diving back into the chaotic office to reach Abdul, taking him to one side to speak quietly. ‘I just spoke to Kristi. Zhang’s been on a secret mission to the Beijing all week. What the hell is he doing over there?’

Abdul spots Helga through the packed office. ‘Leave it with me,’ Abdul says.

* * *

Kristi steps from the office and sets off to find Rona, but stops as she sees Mahatma’s face on a holo feed outside the walkway. That nagging question comes back: how the hell was she in two places at once?

That feeling also returns. That instinct telling her this is all a mirage, somehow. Like a smokescreen. That the protesters on both sides are puppets, and somewhere above them all are the puppet masters pulling strings to make noise and create a distraction, and maybe Zhang’s disappearance is linked to it all too.

But that’s nuts. Zhang hasn’t disappeared. He’s got stuck on the Beijing and can’t message because of the network, and with it being New Year there’s no way of knowing what carnage is being caused.

That nag grows into a voice screaming in the back of her mind to stop and think.

‘Kristi!’ Kasim’s voice shouts in her ear. ‘GET ON AIR.’

49

Friday Morning

Level 1

The Humility

‘Captain, all I am saying is if we knew who you were using, we could try and give them some direction,’ the aide says, trying to hold a polite tone while getting her point across. ‘Some of the adverts are great, but some aren’t. The violent stick-figure adverts yesterday did not help us at all.’

‘I know my own ship!’ Pierre snaps, shooting up to his feet and heading for his drinks cabinet. ‘Just stick to the damned plan.’

The aide hesitates. She doesn’t know what the plan is. None of them do. Pierre now has the entire Level 1 staff at his disposal, except he’s not giving them anything to do. He just tells them to stick to the plan. But there is no plan.

Pierre downs the shot of whisky with a growing worry inside that he’s not in control of this. That he’s become a puppet for someone else, but the reward – oh, my. The reward will be something else.

‘Pierre, perhaps I can have a look for you?’ Jean asks from the grand sofa in Pierre’s masculine offices.

‘Fine. Do that,’ Pierre orders, full of gusto and authority. ‘Get on it, Jean. And you, get out,’ he adds to the aide as she rushes for the door. ‘Fucking Helga. That damned speech. Play it again.’

‘Do you think that’s wise?’ Jean asks.

‘Play the damn thing again!’

Jean does as he’s told and re-runs the footage of Helga in the Elfors, gripping the railings while leaning out to address the rats and scum.

‘She knows what’s she’s doing alright,’ Pierre says. ‘Smart cunt. That was always her problem. Too smart for own good. Look at her. That is inciting riots. She’s inciting mutiny.’

‘Captain,’ another aide says from the door. ‘Chief Raynor is here to see you.’

‘About time! What the fuck is this?’ Pierre demands as Jorgey walks in and clocks Jean Schrieber looking like a smug sack of shit.

‘Captain Jefferson. That appears to be the vice-captain making a speech.’

‘Do not be flippant with me, Jorgey. Helga might put up with that shit, but I damn well won’t. I want her arrested. Now.’

‘What for?’

‘For inciting riots! That is mutinous.’

‘It’s mutinous,’ Jean says, nodding at Jorgey.

‘Damn treason is what it is,’ Pierre adds.

‘And treason,’ Jean says.

Jorgey takes a breath. Exhausted from a week of hell and feeling as worried as everyone else about the gathering pace of this almighty clusterfuck. ‘The vice-captain is not inciting anything. If you listen, she’s actually appealing for calm.’

‘Well, now. We know what side the police are on,’ Jean says with a heavy sigh, flapping hand out towards Jorgey.

‘I am impartial, Councillor Schrieber. But that speech is not inciting riots. However, there are some very vocal protesters demanding Elforists be killed and strung up. That is inciting people to riot. Captain, my advice is to impose an immediate curfew, which will reduce the numbers in the retail zone. I was a tactical commander on the Ark. I can form a team and start clearing all of the protests—’

‘I am ordering you to arrest Helga Sveinsson and Abdul Shariff,’ Pierre cuts in.

‘I do not have any grounds to do that, Captain,’ Jorgey says, forcing her tone to remain neutral.

‘I am the captain of this ship!’

‘I don’t have evidence or grounds.’

‘That fucking speech is your evidence!’

‘Come now, Jorgey. Do your job,’ Jean says. ‘Look at those scum at Abdul’s awful little café. They’re winding everyone up.’

‘The counter-protest is as lawful as the original protest. If I remove one, then I must remove all. Which I am happy to do. Are you ordering me to remove the protests, Captain?’

‘You fucking . . .’ Pierre growls the words out, taking a step towards Jorgey as she stiffens and looks him in the eye, as though daring him to make a move on her. ‘Get out,’ he says quietly. ‘You’ll be with them, Jorgey. When this happens. You’ll be with Helga and Abdul in the fucking bowels!’

Jorgey walks out with a jarring rush of fear because she knows the only step left is for Pierre to call for federal assistance which will be the spark that ignites the whole thing, and only a fool would use force now. It’s just waiting to detonate.

‘You heard that, Jean,’ Pierre says in his office as the door closes behind Jorgey. ‘You’re witness to that. Chief Raynor just refused a lawful order.’

‘I both heard and saw it,’ Jean announces.

‘I told her. I said Jorgey, this is damned mess, we need it fixed. What did she say? She said she’s not doing a damned thing. She said she’s Pro-Elfor. She said she refuses to go against Helga. She said that. She said to hell with you and she’s refusing support. First job for you when you’re the VC is to find a new police chief.’

‘She refused, Captain. I heard her. She said fuck No More Excuses. I’m with Helga!’

‘Don’t add swearing to it, Jean. That’s too much. Just stick to what I said. Whole fucking thing is a clusterfuck,’ Pierre says, striding across his office and into his glass-domed area. A private paradise. A sanctuary only for him. He seals the door and moves deeper into the leafy haven to make a call. Audio only. No video.

‘Captain,’ the quiet man says upon answering.

‘Done,’ Pierre says as he lowers into an easy chair. ‘Told her to arrest Helga and Abdul and she refused.’

‘Good. Now you have grounds to call for federal assistance.’

‘Bit early for that isn’t it? Don’t they need to actually start rioting first? That’s the normal way of these things. Mind you, getting the feds over here will start the damned riots in the first place. Is that what you want is it?’

‘Just order the federal assistance, Captain. All things are where they need to be.’

‘What does that fucking mean?! Damned gibberish. Fine! Do what the hell you want.’

‘It will soon be over, Captain, and you can have what they promised.’

‘Yes,’ Pierre says, deep and old and gruff as he presses a button to make the chair lower into a lounger, his mind filling with the dream of the power he will have. The power that he so rightly deserves. ‘When do you want the feds over here?’

‘Tonight, Captain. We’ll do it tonight while all eyes are on the Beijing.’

The quiet man cuts the call and stares over to the crowds outside the café. It seems everyone has a side now. The retail zone is the same. Arguments and fights are breaking out everywhere.

‘Busy, busy,’ he murmurs, while swiping to make a call. Audio only. No video. ‘Are you ready to go?’ he asks.

‘Almost. He’s doing the cross-linking now.’

The call cuts as Karen turns back towards the big shack deep within Level 40. A hive of activity with gnarly bruisers lined up and waiting for new identities.

‘Okey-dokey,’ Osmosis says, peering up at a rangy guy with a bent nose and hard eyes. ‘Keith? No, you don’t look like a Keith. Donald? Ah, here we are. Carlos Nando . . .’ Osmosis says, typing fast before fixing a wristband to the guy’s wrist then typing some more. ‘Don’t walk off!’ he snaps, clicking his fingers for the guy to come back.

‘We need to hurry up,’ Karen says.

‘Then assign the names in advance for me,’ Osmosis says, swooshing a screen over to her.

‘Right, Skully, you’re now Peter Hemming,’ Karen says, picking the first name on the list.

‘He’s not a Peter Hemming,’ Osmosis says. ‘He’s looks ready to eat someone. No mother in the fleet would call him Peter. Is there an S? Use an S.’

‘Sandy? No, no, you’re not a Sandy. Okay, this is harder than it looks,’ she adds as Chatty Simon fingers a name on the list. ‘Silas Gert!’ Karen calls.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ Osmosis says, nodding at Simon.

‘Okay,’ Karen says, getting to the next man in the queue as Simon fingers another name. ‘Harry The Hacker is now—’

‘Is he a hacker?’ Osmosis asks, looking over. ‘Hey dude, what OS you on guy?’

‘Bodies, Osmosis. You know. Chop chop. Slice slice.’

‘Whoa, don’t do the actions. Gross.’

‘Harry, You’re still Harry,’ Karen says. ‘Harry Chan.’

‘Good name, Harry,’ the guy behind Harry says, patting him on the back while more murmur and nod as they wait for their turn.

‘JUST GET IT FUCKING DONE,’ Dmitri roars out from the other side of the room, bringing forth an instant silence. Karen shoots him a look and watches the way he’s prowling the room like he’s consumed with energy. He is, too. He has to be there now. He needs his hands on Pretty Boy’s throat. He needs Yassy alone in a room on her back. He can’t think of anything else and the powders he keeps snorting certainly don’t help.

A look between Karen and Osmosis and they go back to work. Getting the men cross-linked for the shuttle that will take them to the Beijing. To Abdul’s little party and Yasmine and the code. To Sam Gablinski, who has now gone very silent.

50

Friday Afternoon

‘Drink, sir?’ the steward asks as Sam takes his seat in the business class section of the CrossFleet Shuttle Service.

He asks for a coffee and looks out the window as the shuttle detaches and sets off on its flight. The bad feelings are still inside of him that he was taken for a fool, and he feels sick whenever he thinks about Yasmine kissing Dmitri in that video.

He needs to be away from them. He knows that. It’s not healthy to be a part of it now. Sam isn’t a bitter man, nor does he hold a grudge, but it’s just all so raw, and right now he has no inclination to speak to Penny or anyone else. It’s not sulking, but self-preservation. He hasn’t lashed out, nor would he. That’s not Sam. He just wants to move away and create distance to gather his thoughts.

He held out hope all night that Yasmine would surface and make contact. That she’d explain or do something. But nothing. No calls, no messages, no anything. Which just shows how much he means to her. Which just shows how true those messages were.

‘Here’s your coffee,’ the steward says with a tut at seeing Sam’s news feed open showing the protests underway on the Humility. ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ he remarks as Sam nods up at him, seeing that look in the steward’s eyes. The look that Sam has come to recognise.

‘Are you, er . . . are you from there?’ Sam asks.

The steward hesitates with a flash of worry before offering a polite smile. ‘I don’t want any trouble, sir. Enjoy your coffee.’

Sam watches him go and turns back to the news feed showing the growing protests outside the café and the other one by the stairwell. News reports of fights in the lanes and walkways, too. More stores have taken their Anti-Elfor signs down and are being targeted by angry mobs shouting at them, and that’s where the confusion comes from in Sam. That right now he feels hurt and used while at the same time he believes in the cause.

He’s angry at Yasmine and Abdul, and it’s hard to separate his own emotions from what he believes is right and just, and so he drinks the coffee the Elforist steward made and watches the news as the shuttle flies through space towards the Beijing. Towards an evening of noise and light and huge crowds that will help him forget his woes.

* * *

‘I’m so fucking cold,’ Sun whispers from inside another shuttle, flying somewhere within the fleet, her breath blasting out steam as she pushes closer into Yasmine.

It’s not the deep cold of space because they’d be dead in seconds from that, and the goods in transit would perish too. It’s just a cold place. Like sitting in a fridge for hours after a day of hard labour and a night of running and fighting.

‘What do you think Sam is doing?’ Sun asks.

Yasmine presses her cheek to Sun’s head, holding the younger, thinner girl as tight as she can. ‘I bet he’s behind his screens with literally no idea that a whole day has passed.’

Sun laughs. Faint and weak. ‘He’s cool. I like Sam.’

‘Me too.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘Don’t start again. Penny’s already said it.’

‘If you don’t want sex then just tell him. He’ll be fine with it. What was that?’ she asks sharply as the ship manoeuvres suddenly with the cages shifting about.

‘We’re docking,’ Yasmine says. ‘Get up. Quickly!’

They grope about to find the sack within the cage Sun was hiding in as they feel the ship turning hard and slowing down. Sun clambers back in, her fear and dread spiking again. She thought they’d just walk out when the shuttle docked, but Yasmine is right. They could be anywhere in the fleet being greeted by anyone.

A clang from outside. A jolt from the docking tube. Yasmine rushes for her own sack, banging her shins and head, and grunting in pain. More jolts sound out. Are they at a commercial port? Are there passengers getting off? Or is it a private shuttle, just used to ship stolen goods?

A crack of light appears. She heaves herself over the lip of the sack to drop headfirst as the cargo hold fills with light.

She hears muffled voices and after what seems an eternity her own cage starts moving. Banging into things. Voices calling out. Music somewhere. Time passes, and suddenly it goes quiet again. Very quiet, and after a while the glint of light coming through the objects on top of her also goes off, and once more she’s left frozen and terrified in the dark.

* * *

Somewhere else within the fleet another shuttle connects to another tube. The VIP airlock docking port on Level 20. A lounge area now filled with the weird and wonderful.

‘What the fuck, Ferdy?’ Penny says, holding her hands out. Janey at her side. ‘I mean, literally what the fuck?’

‘It’s fine!’ Ferdy says as Penny scowls at him. ‘Everyone loves them.’

‘They’re hookers!’ Penny whispers, while smiling at Carla Big Lips, Honey the Money and Lick Lick Suck. Carla’s in her bright pink catsuit, Honey in a mesh dress, and Lick hardly wearing anything at all.

‘They’re on a break from that – some weirdo freaked them out. They’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Get them all dolled up and they’ll do great, and everyone loves Carla.’

‘Yeah, when they’re paying her for blowjobs,’ Penny mutters, looking around at the best and brightest chosen by Ferdy. Dancers and bar staff all dressed in lurid yellows and pinks, with wild make-up on cheeks and faces that looks great in Neon City, but not up here. ‘This is a fucking disaster. What were we thinking? We can’t take this lot to the Beijing. They won’t let us dock.’

The day has flown by with everything so frantic and rushed. Kristi even asked Penny to do an interview. Penny told her to fuck off and went back to the chaos of the storeroom HQ to find Helga.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Penny asked. ‘Honestly, Helga. I don’t know. There’s too many things going on.’

Helga led to her one side and held her hand while looking Penny deep in the eyes. ‘I need you to trust me, Penny. Okay?’

‘I do, but—’

‘Then trust me.’

‘But,’ Penny said, feeling confused and worried, ‘there’s more going on. I’m worried sick.’

‘You’re right. There is, and I do not want Abdul here.’

‘Oh my god! Don’t tell me that. I’ll have kittens.’

‘Because if I fail then it will be all down to him.’

‘Right. I am having a panic attack.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Helga said, and the strangest thing happened – she pulled Penny into a hug. It was a nice one, too, like it meant something. Like they’d connected. ‘Keep Abdul away until you hear from me,’ she whispered into Penny’s ear, and then she was gone. Striding off back into the chaos.

Now Penny can keep a secret, but her loyalty will always be to Abdul and so she told him the first chance she got. Word for word. The whole thing.

Abdul nodded as he listened, then after thinking for a moment he told her the plan. At which point Penny really did think she was having kittens.

It’s not much better now as they gather for the shuttle, the lounge filled with Elforists who couldn’t look more out of place if they tried, and Abdul over to one side deep in conversation with Colin and Fast Hands Ferdy.

‘Okay guys, listen in,’ Penny calls as Clara claps her hands to get attention. ‘We’re going to board now. We’ve got clothes on the shuttle for you to change into and we’ll go through the instructions. Right. Er . . . fuck it, load up then, we’re moving out.’

‘That sounds familiar,’ Clara says, giving Penny a look before the rush starts and the chaos magnifies.

* * *

‘Folks, this is Kristi Carter and I have got to say that this feels like the strangest day of all. While Abdul leads a delegation of Elforists over to the Beijing for New Year, Vice-Captain Helga Sveinsson, now the Queen of the Elfors, remains here, rallying her troops as she faces off against King Jefferson and his army. You stay tuned, folks, because I have a feeling the Beijing won’t be the only ship with fireworks today. This is Kristi Carter, live for FleetNewsCast . . .’

‘Kristi! That was great,’ Kasim says in her ear. ‘What a piece. You’re on fire with this. You’re going to win awards, Kristi.’

‘I’m going to get a coffee is what I’m doing,’ Kristi says, cutting the link.

There’s still no word from Zhang. He hasn’t opened any of the messages, which is odd because it’s showing that they got to him. Surely if it was overload, they wouldn’t even reach him.

Abdul has gone too, and that came about very quickly. Too quickly, really. One minute every bit of his attention is on this crisis, then the next minute he’s rushing off to the other side of the fleet to host a function. He said he’s going to get support from other leaders and people of influence, but still. This feels like the most dangerous time to go, when the whole crisis is right at the brink.

None of it feels right. Not one stinking bit of it. Why did Janey get so panicky whenever Kristi mentioned Mahatma? How the hell can Mahatma have robbed the Finance offices? The whole thing has been lost behind these protests.

‘Kristi?’ Rona calls out. ‘Kasim heard people are gathering by the guard station in Neon City. He wants us down there.’

‘Minute,’ Kristi says, wanting to walk away to somewhere quiet to think, but that’s impossible up here. There isn’t anywhere. ‘Back in ten.’

She strides off with a sudden smile at feeling the AI interface in the sports bra tighten and draw her boobs in. To the next stairwell. Down to level 34. Row H. Cabin 39. Inside to peace and quiet where she can think. ‘Espresso grade 4,’ she tells the machine and swipes her system to start bringing feeds up. Going back to the porridge party, to one week ago when it all started. It’s the robbery, it has to be. Something happened and this is all a cover for something else. The Elfor crisis is definitely real, but it’s being driven.

She needs to know why, and the strangest day of all continues as she finds a new surge of courage to follow her gut and find the real story.

* * *

As Kristi starts tugging the thread the aide walks back into Pierre’s office on Level 1 and through to his private sanctuary. ‘It’s ready, Captain.’

Pierre huffs as he swipes his system to find the form. ‘Who do I send it to then?’ he snaps.

‘Just click send at the bottom. It’s automatic.’

The aide leaves as the formal request populated and completed by his staff goes out from his system at near the speed of light to traverse the many miles between the Humility and the Ark. Pinging up on the duty officer’s screen within the Ark’s Federal Police Offices. She opens it quickly to read through without any great surprise.

She accesses her system, adds a few notes and sends it on, and it whizzes through the net to ping up on the screen of Commander Drago, the duty Tactical Commander for the Federal Fast Response Unit. He does the same, and reads the request without any show of surprise.

I, Captain Pierre Jefferson of the worldship Humility and as part of the Fleet Federal Code, do hereby formally order tactical aid be given in response to increasing acts of violence from Elforists throughout the WS Humility. The situation is escalating with mass public disorder with a risk of loss of life, damage to property and further with a threat to the security of the vessel as a whole. Intelligence and investigation have led me to believe the Humility’s own police will not respond due to Chief Raynor’s political support of Helga Sveinsson, who is at this very time rallying support within the Elfors for a mass charge.

I request enough officers be dispatched to suppress the violence and return all Elforists to the Lower Four Levels in order to return safety to the lawful residents of this ship.

P. Jefferson.

Captain of the WS Humility.

* * *

The quiet man sips his coffee while watching the café. The aggression rising with every passing hour, and now the feds are coming it will get underway properly. Which is good, but the only problem is that Yasmine has disappeared, and so he makes another call.

‘Petra, an update please,’ he says when it connects.

‘Negative so far.’

‘People do not just disappear, Petra.’

‘They do if they ran back into the tombs. You know how big this place is. I downloaded the data from the door scanners but proxy servers were being used. Like a hacking system. It’s clever really. And we spoke to Weng and Pablo to see if anyone was missing but they said dozens of subbies didn’t go back to work after the break. Listen, if I make more of a fuss, we’re going to stand out too much and I’ve already had to get rid of Milo and Martins and scrub the floors.’

‘Understood. You’re doing a good job. Don’t worry, they’ll surface eventually.’

* * *

Petra cuts the call from the desk system Martins used in the tombs, her blonde hair still pulled back in a tight ponytail. The woman who ran into the storage room leading her team as Yasmine and Sun hid within the sacks, which were the one place she didn’t think to search, but then she had to get the bodies out before the early morning shift started and those cages were quickly taken out. Whatever. Like the quiet man said. They’ll surface eventually.

51

Friday Afternoon

Yasmine breaks the surface of the sack, rising slowly to peer about, but it’s nearly pitch black like the shuttle.

A noise further over. A rustle. She starts sinking down, ready to hide again as Sun’s head slowly emerges from the top of another sack.

‘Yassy? I’ve got to get out, I’m going to piss myself,’ Sun says, scrabbling to climb free. Yasmine does the same and they both sprawl over the floor with more grunts and yelps at the blooms of pain. Bruises on bruises all over their bodies. Sun clambers up and starts tugging her coveralls off to work at her trousers underneath. ‘My hands are numb – my fucking hands are numb!’ she whimpers with rising panic.

‘It’s okay,’ Yasmine whispers, rushing over to help her undress as Sun breaks into more tears.

‘It’s coming out – I can’t hold it,’ Sun sobs. Her fingers are not doing what she wants, they’re too frozen, and the pressure inside is hurting.

‘I’m here,’ Yasmine says, trying to make her own frozen hands work to tug Sun’s coveralls down. ‘Okay, got it – go over here.’

‘I can’t, it’s coming, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Just squat down. I’ve got you. Lower down, it’s okay,’ Yasmine says, holding Sun while the piss comes out, while Sun cries at the humiliation and cold and fear. ‘You done?’

‘Yeah. I’m so sorry.’

‘Hold me. I need to go.’

They do the same again. Tugging clothes free so Yasmine can piss in the dark. The stench of urine filling their noses, adding to the stench of sweat and grime and blood and filth. ‘Do you think Sam would still fancy me now?’ Yasmine whispers, feeling like she could cry too, but the joke does the trick and earns a snort from Sun, easing the awful terror and degradation as they start to dress.

‘Stinks,’ Sun says, moving away from their puddles of piss.

‘We’re thirsty,’ Yasmine says, groping out to feel her way through the room. Another storage area from what she can see. Big, but not huge. Not like the vast rooms on the Ark. And the ceiling is lower. She finds a wall and heads to the glimmering red light of a scanner with Sun right behind her. ‘There’s a door,’ Yasmine whispers. ‘Is there a panel to open it?’

‘Just the scanner,’ Sun says.

They cross the darkness to the other side of the room to another red glow, but that too only opens by a scanner and they come to a stop with the same realisation as before. That they are once more trapped.

‘Look for food or water . . . Must be something here,’ Yasmine says, heading to the first cage to try to see what’s inside. She reaches in to heft a box out and snorts a laugh from instantly recognising the weight from her time working in the cafe. ‘You’re joking me . . .’

‘What? Have you got something?’

‘No,’ she groans, feeling like she could cry again from the familiarity of it. ‘Just a box of synth porridge mix. Unbelievable.’

‘Are we on the Humility?’ Sun asks with sudden hope.

‘No. I wish. Sven gets through a few cages a day. There’s only one load here. I don’t know where we are but damn, I really want porridge now.’

* * *

‘How’s your porridge, Olga?’ Helga asks between her own mouthfuls. Just the two of them in her new storeroom HQ. Everyone else already on the shuttle crossing over to the Beijing.

Olga nods while spooning the white stuff into her mouth, her head lowered and an arm wrapped protectively about her bowl in the Elfor way. She eats fast too, seemingly impervious to the heat. But then Abdul and Penny said Olga is a very unique individual with a very unique pain threshold. Which is how she got called Olga Two Sticks.

‘I’m done,’ Olga announces a few seconds later, even showing Helga her empty bowl as though expecting something, and Helga wonders if they have treats to throw for her. Or maybe a ball or something.

‘How was it then?’ Dorka asks, rapping her knuckles on the door as she walks in. ‘Alright was it? Fill you up?’

Olga shakes her head.

‘I’ll get you some more, Olga. Stay there. Was yours okay, ma’am?’

‘Very good. Compliments to Erik please,’ Helga says.

‘Will do,’ Dorka says, gathering the bowls.

‘And how is it looking out there?’ Helga asks with a show of great concern as Dorka’s face darkens.

‘Awful. It’s gonna go. I’m telling you. Svetty’s out there and she don’t let go when she gets fired up. And Dil and Marko and them lot, they’ve all had this brewing up for a long time. And your cousin Ivan is out there now too, Olga. And I’ll tell you this for free, ma’am. When Ivan goes, dear me. He’s near as bad as Olga, he is. He put Guphy on his backside once. One hit, straight to the jaw. Went down like a sack of shit. Even Dmitri gives Ivan a wide berth, specially if he’s had a drop of whisky. But yeah, it’s gonna go and god help ’em when it does. They won’t know what’s hit them. Anyway, I’d better get on. Can’t stand here gassing all day now can I?’

Dorka walks out, leaving Helga processing what she just said, while glancing to the news feeds playing over her battered desk. She quite likes it, actually. The desk, that is. It suits what this is. Like a general in a tent on the battlefield, using what he can to work on. Another thought in mind, and when Dorka heads back to the storeroom HQ with a second bowl of porridge for Olga a few minutes later, Ivan’s there too. Sitting on a chair in the corner, silent as anything. Big and gnarly and wearing a black security officer’s shirt the same as Olga’s. Which he wasn’t wearing a moment ago. A look from Dorka to Helga. Eyebrows raised and a smile shared, and Dorka heads out to get another bowl.

* * *

‘Espresso grade 4.’ Kristi orders another coffee while thinking she might want to stop drinking so much coffee. But stuff it. She needs the brain juice, and she goes back to the many feeds open in the cabin. Footage from the porridge party. Footage from the fight she filmed by the stairwell. Footage from the Finance offices. It all feels so long ago, and this week has changed her, too. She’s looking at it all through new eyes, with fresh perspective. There’s something here, within all of this. This is the start, the thread she needs to tug. But which bit?’

‘Kristi! Where the fuck are you?’

‘Researching,’ she replies to Kasim sounding angry in her ear.

‘Researching what? Get back to that fucking protest. It’s going to go any second and you need to be there.’

‘I will. Five minutes.’

She cuts him off and goes back into the sphere of holo feeds, turning a circle to see it all. To see where it began.

* * *

Sam’s shuttle docks fast, which is surprising as he fully expected there to be a horrendous delay. What with the known issues the Beijing already has, plus the New Year celebrations tonight.

The Beijing, however, has relaxed its normally stringent docking policy and is turning the shuttles around as fast as it can, and a bare few moments later Sam steps into the concourse of the Beijing. And boy does it look different.

People. Just wall-to-wall people, and from them comes the heat and humidity. Like walking into a wall of wet warmth.

He makes his way through, spotting feeds playing Chi-Chi’s ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum’ then another of her video for ‘Dance For The Light’. Adverts for her live show here in Confucius Square tonight, which is surreal enough given the fact he spent a few hours talking to her on holo last night.

More feeds show Beaky’s version of ‘Dance For The Light’ too, with whole groups of people gathering to watch it. He spots his café advert playing as well, and the Nazi one that he now doesn’t like at all. It’s a surreal moment for sure, and it both helps and worsens his emotional state.

Each one of his clips is a reminder of Yasmine. That he was helping the Elfors because of her, and his belly flips at the thought of her. Of her dark eyes and hair. Her cheekbones and the way she laughs. Her humour and how she swears and the sweetness she has that isn’t true, because the whole thing was a big stinking lie. But she was the lie, not the Elfor crisis.

That’s how Sam feels. Confused, jarred and unsettled, so he walks on to get absorbed within the crowds as he heads towards Confucius Square.

* * *

A few minutes later and another shuttle docks. The tunnel connecting. The doors opening.

Penny strides out first with her head up. Tall and elegant and dressed in a figure-hugging black dress. Clara behind, her arms and legs bulging with muscle, and the rest follow. Carla Big Lips, Honey the Money and Lick Lick Suck striding out from the shuttle, and Ferdy was right. They look stunning, with their hair styled and their make-up toned down.

The young men and women come next, led by Ferdy looking smart in a black suit. Serving girls and boys. Dancers and bouncers. Each one either in a black dress or a black shirt.

Abdul walks out, flanked by Colin, Boris and Pash. More security behind them.

They practised this on the way over with Ferdy putting them through their paces, because they had to make an entrance – and on cue, the Elforists part to let Abdul walk through the middle to join Penny as Clara steps out with a huge smile.

‘MAKE WAY NOW FOLKS. THE ELFORS ARE COMING THROUGH . . .’

Penny feels a bit stupid, like it’s all a bit excessive and silly, but she sees the sense in it. This is Abdul. This is his persona. They have to sell the Elfors, and the glamour of Neon City is their best hope to get support. Besides, if Helga’s plan fails, which it probably will, then Abdul will need all the help he can get.

* * *

Their shuttle undocks and moves away as another arrives.

Murderers and cutthroats. Robbers and bruisers. All in weird clothes that don’t suit them.

Dmitri comes off last. Smartly attired in a white shirt and dark trousers, but then he always did know how to look good. ‘Which way?’ he asks, the second he reaches the others. His mind solely on the reason for being here. To slit Pretty Boy’s throat while Yasmine watches before he takes her like the last time they did it. When he wanted to film it. When she said no. When he decided he didn’t like the word no and so he took what was refused. They too set off into the crowds heading towards Confucius Square.

52

Friday Evening

‘This is so fucked up,’ Sun whispers as they hunker down by the door, straining to listen while crunching on synth crackers. The most awful, blandest, nastiest food in the fleet, but right now they taste divine. If not also very dry, hence the cheap synth beer they’re drinking, which also tastes incredible. It was all they could find, and they went at it too. Stuffing the crackers in their gobs and guzzling warm beer, both of them belching from the gases. That, however, isn’t the fucked-up thing Sun was referring to. It’s the act of eating those dry crackers and drinking that cheap beer while listening to people having sex. ‘They’re definitely doing it,’ she adds in another whisper.

‘Definitely,’ Yasmine whispers to the sound of something going thump thump thump in a very rhythmic way with some muffled gasps and groans coming from beyond one of the doors.

‘Can’t we just bang on the door and say we got lost or something?’ Sun asks as the sound of footsteps coming towards the other door across the room makes them freeze.

A second or two later the scanner beeps and the door swishes back, flooding the room with light as a guy rushes in to grab one of the cages. ‘Stinks in here,’ he mutters under his breath as the door closes behind him.

‘That was Mandarin!’ Sun whispers. ‘We might be on the Beijing.’

‘He’s probably just some Chinese dude working somewhere.’

‘Fuck,’ Sun whispers. ‘What now, then? We can’t just hide in here.’

‘We’re not going to. We’re going to wait for him to come back,’ Yasmine says before downing her beer to grip the bottle by the neck.

‘Why are you holding your bottle like that?’

‘Why do you think I’m holding it like this? To hit him with.’

‘I didn’t know that, did I?! You’re just holding it.’

‘Just drink your beer and get ready.’

‘I am! Are they still having sex? Go and listen so you know what to do with Sam.’

* * *

Sam finally reaches Confucius Square and heads for Ghost Street, squeezing through the dense crowds and scenting the wonderful smells of grilled rat with another jolt of pain inside as he remembers being here with Clara and Penny. Best damned rat in the fleet. He misses Clara a lot and it hurts that she was part of it all. The same with Penny. The same with all of them. The sadness comes back, and despite being in a place of thousands he feels lonelier than ever.

* * *

A few metres behind him but lost from sight within that great press, the Elfor delegation also reaches Ghost Street. Clara in the lead, carving a path, and Fast Hands Ferdy playing to his name and performing magic tricks as he walks.

‘Haha! I see you. Yes, I can see you. Come come. This way!’ Leo calls out over the noise and bedlam as they finally reach a small unit within Ghost Street. ‘Penny! My angel. You look so beautiful. And all of you ladies. Yes, I know you, Honey the Money! We met in Neon City. I’ve been there, and you must be Sven. The famous chef. Haha. Famous on the Humility. I’ve been to your ship. I’ve seen it. Abdul! My old friend!’

‘Thank you for giving us the space,’ Abdul says, taking the hard backslaps with a smile.

‘It’s my pleasure, Abdul. We are friends. We look out for each other. That’s what friends do. It is only a small kitchen, but my staff have got what you needed. It’s all inside and the people, they can eat out here, yes? Look, you can see the square. You have the best view. The best view on Ghost Street! I do this for my old friend. For you, Abdul.’

‘Leo. It means a lot. We’re up against it over there.’

‘The Elfors! I saw it all. My friend. It is very bad. Very bad. Will they be free? I worry, Abdul. Too many workers rushing into the fleet will be bad.’

‘It won’t happen like that, Leo. You have my assurance.’

‘I hope so, Abdul. I’m a trader. I worry about business! I will leave you to set up. I have to mingle and be seen! It is my ship! My home! We’ll speak again, Abdul. I’ll come back. We’ll talk.’

* * *

‘Okay, that’s them,’ Karen says, staring over the square to the sight of Abdul and Penny trying to act like their shit doesn’t stink. ‘Not yet!’ she calls out, pulling Dmitri back.

‘Fuck that,’ Mad Eyes says. ‘Let’s just get in there and bite some fuckers. Come on, Dmitri. Let’s fucking have it.’

‘Dmitri, not yet,’ Karen says, holding him back. ‘You’re smart, Dmitri. You’re switched on. Wait for Yassy to show up. Okay?’ She watches his lips move as he mutters to himself with that nasty gleam in his eyes. He’s sick to the core. Rotten through and through. But he’s also dangerous, and that has to be handled the right way. ‘It will happen. I promise. Just wait. We get the code back, then you can do what you want . . .’

Dmitri waits. Unblinking. Unmoving. The veins already pushing through his skin as Osmosis and Karen share yet another look.

* * *

On the other side of the fleet, in Cabin 39, Row H, Level 34, Kristi Carter pivots on the balls of her feet as the many holo feeds around her play on loops.

The robbery is the start point, but she still doesn’t know what was taken. That information was never released and now it’s all forgotten in the Elfor crisis. The smokescreen. The puppets all dancing to a tune. What tune? Who is doing it? How can Mahatma be in two places at once? Why does Janey panic whenever Kristi mentions that night? Janey hated Mahatma. Mahatma was drunk. Zhang was there.

‘Oh hey, can you move back please? We’re doing a piece here.’

‘Go fuck a goat . . . We need to talk.’

Voices from the interview sound out as she turns within her sphere of feeds. That was from the interview with Pretty Boy when his girlfriend interrupted and dragged him off.

‘AW HELL NO!’ Clara’s voice yelling out as she ran into the big brawl by the stairwell as Kristi runs behind them and catches sight of Pretty Boy and his girlfriend being attacked. Zhang is right there with them.

‘Kristi! Where are you?’ Kasim shouts in her ear.

‘Two more minutes.’

‘You said that an hour ago! Get out there or I am sending someone to replace you.’ He cuts the link and Kristi feels another surge of frustration at her own stupidity. That she cannot connect it all, and the doubt comes back that she’s trying to find a conspiracy where there’s none to be found. It’s this ship. That’s what it does to people. It sends them mad.

‘Oh hey, can you move back please? We’re doing a piece here.’

‘Go fuck a goat . . . We need to talk.’

She snorts a bitter laugh at the words and swipes the feeds down one after the other until she reaches the part where Yasmine drags Pretty Boy away from the interview and thinks again how attractive she is. Dark-skinned and exotic.

She freezes for a second then slowly reaches out to rewind the footage.

‘Oh hey, can you move back please? We’re doing a piece here.’

‘Go fuck a goat . . . We need to talk.’

She slows the frame rate, inching it along. Adjusting the light. Zooming in on Yasmine, who looks worried and panicked in the same way Zhang looked when he left the toilets. Like something is going wrong.

Kristi winds it right back to when Rona started filming and goes through it all again, but there’s no sign of Yasmine anywhere. She spots Abdul staring into the café at Sven, Janey and Sam inside all huddled together. Watching them closely. Mahatma leaving the toilet. Drunk and happy. Dark-skinned. Exotic and beautiful. Just like Yasmine.

‘Holy shit . . .’

* * *

Commander Drago watches his squad file into the Federal Personnel Shuttle. Dozens of highly trained men and women carrying bags of kit. Shields and armour. The sound of their boots thumping as they cross the tunnel to stow kit and take seats inside. He steps away and makes a call while keeping the holo screen small.

It answers after a few seconds. A blast of background noise as Colin’s face comes into view showing surprise. ‘Drago?’

Drago looks at him. At the man he used to work for. The man everyone used to admire, and they were all there when it happened. Colin, Drago and Jorgey. They all played a part, but Colin took the fall for it and never said a word about anyone else. That’s why Drago makes this call now, because he owes Colin that much at least.

‘You free to speak, Commander?’ Drago asks.

Colin snorts a dry laugh. ‘It’s just Colin, Drago. You’re the commander now, but yeah, what’s up?’

‘This didn’t come from me, but I’m taking a squad over to the Humility. Pierre’s called for a Fed Tac Response.’

‘What’s the orders?’

‘Drive the Elforists back down. He pretty much said Jorgey’s lost control and won’t action his orders.’

‘That’s bullshit, Drago.’

‘I know. It always is, but orders are orders. Anyway. It’s a heads up.’

‘Appreciate it. Take it easy, Drago. They’re not bad people.’

‘They never are, Commander. Drago out.’

* * *

Rona walks briskly into row H and down to cabin 39 to rap her knuckles on the door. ‘Why did you call me down here? Kasim is going – holy shit!’ she says as she steps inside to see the room filled with holo feeds. ‘What the hell?’

‘You need to hear me out,’ Kristi says. ‘Okay, so, I was going over the footage from the porridge party. This is Mahatma, right. The dead girl. The one that got murdered.’

‘I know who Mahatma is, Kristi.’

‘She’s coming out of the toilet. And, hang on, so this is the girl that interrupted the interview, right? Yasmine. She’s Pretty Boy’s girlfriend. Watch.’

‘Oh hey, can you move back please? We’re doing a piece here.’

‘Go fuck a goat . . . we need to talk.’

‘Did you see it?’

‘See what?’ Rona asks. ‘What am I looking at?’

‘They look the same!’

‘Who do?’

‘Mahatma and Yasmine! Look at this from the raw footage . . . this is the café, and this is Sven and Janey and that’s Sam. They’re all inside talking. And this is Abdul watching them . . . and, and . . . so this is Mahatma coming out of the toilet. Then Zhang comes out but look how worried he is. And look at this. This is when the interview is interrupted. Yasmine looks just like Mahatma. Same hair. It’s even done up the same way. And watch this. This is what I filmed when I got to that fight. I thought the Elfor gang were robbing Sam and Yasmine, but they’re not. They’re attacking them!’

Rona shakes her head. ‘Kristi? I’m not . . . you know . . . you’re not being clear. Listen, the protests are ready to go at each other. We need to be on air right now.’

‘No! You’re not getting it.’

‘Getting what?’

‘Mahatma didn’t leave the party, but witnesses said they saw her in the Finance offices. But she didn’t go there. Yasmine did!’

‘What?’

‘Yasmine robbed the Finance offices pretending to be Mahatma and took something, and the Elfor gang were trying to get it back!’

* * *

‘Boss?’ Colin says in Ghost Street on the Beijing, moving in close to Abdul as he circulates through the party. ‘Quick word, please.’

‘Excuse me,’ Abdul says, stepping away as Colin comes in close to whisper in his ear. Abdul nods and finds a quiet space to make a call. ‘They’re on the way,’ he says.

‘Understood,’ Helga replies from the storeroom HQ.

‘I can still come back.’

‘We agreed, Abdul. This is the best way. It’s the only way.’

Helga cuts the call. A thrum inside. A thrill, even. Fear too and there’s no way of knowing which way this will go. Only that it’s starting.

* * *

‘Jesus, Kristi. How much coffee have you had?’ Rona asks.

‘No, listen! It all makes sense. Janey worked in the Finance offices and hates Mahatma. Pretty Boy is a hacker and Yasmine looks like Mahatma! I bet they took her band and Pretty Boy did a biometric crosslink to get Yasmine inside. And look! See that smudge on Yasmine’s face right when she turns. That’s blood on her face.’

‘What?’ Rona says, moving closer. ‘That could be anything.’

‘And listen to this,’ Kristi says, grabbing another holo feed. ‘This is from the fight when I ran after Abdul. I rewound the footage back and amplified the voices.’

‘WHAT FUCKING CODE?’ Yasmine’s voice sounds out. Distorted from amplification. ‘ . . . ypto. I stole crypto . . . have it. It’s on . . .’ A female voice, broken and fuzzy.

‘CODE!’ A deep harsh male voice demanding something.

‘It’s . . . the crypto . . .’ Another male voice trying to explain something.

‘I’m not getting it,’ Rona says.

‘Yasmine stole crypto from the Finance Offices, but she took something else!’ Kristi says, jabbing at the feeds while staring at Rona. ‘The Elfor gang were trying to get it back.’

‘Get what back?’

‘Whatever Yasmine took! That’s why Zhang ran out.’

‘Zhang is in on this too then, yeah?’ Rona asks with a flippant tone as Kristi readies to fire back at her before catching the sting in the tail. She looks back at the footage. At Zhang leaving the toilets. At how worried he looks. He was the first one to find the fight. He was the first one to find Mahatma, too. Zhang is in on this. Zhang is a part of it all too.

‘Don’t pull on this thread . . .’

A memory swimming in. Whispered words. When she was drunk and called him. He said that. He said Don’t pull on this thread. It’s too dangerous. She was too drunk to remember it, and everything has been happening so fast.

‘And Abdul too, yeah?’ Rona asks, holding her hands out with a sarcastic sneer. ‘Is he in on it? How about the porridge guy? He part of it? Okay. Sure. Everyone is involved. Whatever. But hey, maybe ease up on the coffees? You’re seeing conspiracies everywhere, hun. Anyway, we need to get on air. Whose cabin is this anyway?’

‘None of your damn business,’ Kristi snaps as she pushes Rona out the door and sets off towards the stairwell.

‘Where are you going? Kristi! Fucking presenters,’ Rona groans, rubbing her face while suspecting she just wound Kristi up. But fuck her. Kristi gets six minute showers and room service and nice clothes and every man wants to fuck her and she holds back until Kristi is gone from sight before making a call. Audio only. No video.

‘Yes?’ the softly spoken man asks when it connects.

‘It’s me. Rona. You said to call if Kristi ever said anything really odd about all this crap.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She’s gabbling on about some shit. Something about Mahatma didn’t rob the Finance offices because she was in the porridge party all night. She thinks a woman called Yasmine did it and the Elfor gang were trying to get something back . . . maybe a code or whatever.’

‘Thank you, Rona.’

‘I’m still going to get a new job, right? I want to be a producer in a movie studio. And I want six minute showers. Are you still there? Fuck!’ She hisses at realising the call has ended.

* * *

The quiet man ponders this latest snippet of intelligence from his network of informants. He already knew Mahatma didn’t rob the Finance offices. Yasmine did it and she took the code too. The only problem is the quiet man doesn’t know where the hell Yasmine Emile Dufont is right now. She disappeared somewhere in the tombs after killing Martins. Which is a shame as Yasmine was the bait to lure Dmitri out of the Elfors. Still, never mind. Plans are always fluid and everything else seems to be on track. Now it’s just a matter of enjoying the show.

* * *

Kristi hits the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time and gripping the rail to aid her turns. She tries calling Zhang again, but still no response.

‘FUCK YOU!’ A shout from up ahead. Two groups pushing at each other. Men and women arguing.

She rounds a bend into another lane. ‘GET OUT NOW!’ A man shouting from the door of an eatery, trying to push a guy out. ‘No Elforists!’

She skirts the edge of the protest at the main stairwell. The area now thick with people heckling and goading each other, chanting under their banners. Queen Helga and King Jefferson. Stick figures and Mahatma’s image everywhere. Beaky on the other side. Urgent thoughts in her head that this thing, whatever it is, is much bigger than she imagined. Zhang is involved. He was in the party. He’s connected to it all.

She runs back into the lanes, darting through gangs taking positions on corners. The shops and stores closed up, the bars and eateries packed with people fuelling up on booze, ready for the fight they know is coming.

‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ A guy slams into another man just ahead of her, taking him down as they trade blows, while others rush in to pull them apart. A few more fists flying, but even she can tell they’re just skirmishes and scraps, and not the all-out war that is coming.

Another gaggle of protesters. People everywhere. Placards and noise and lights, and she spills out from the lanes to stare in shock at the area by the café.

Missiles being traded. Beakers and food cartons and both sides have doubled in size in just the last couple of hours.

‘FUCK YOU!’ Dil roars, lobbing a beaker back at the other side.

‘COME ON THEN!’ someone from the Anti-Elfor side screams. Their voices just two within the cacophony of noise, as though every single act being taken is another step to the final confrontation.

It’s all happening so fast now. There’s no stopping it. It’s going to happen. It’s just waiting for that final push and everyone up here will go for it, at which point the Elfors will charge the stairs in full riot.

She glimpses Helga within the walkway, flanked by Olga and Ivan, Helga’s face a grim mask as though she doesn’t want this. As though this is all a bad nightmare.

She runs off, heading for the stairwell by the toilets where Stella was killed and takes them two at a time, once more gripping the rail to aid her turns. Kasim bellows in her ear. She cuts him off and runs out onto Level 25, heading for the police HQ.

‘Kristi, this is not the time,’ Jorgey calls, striding towards her as Kristi runs in.

‘It fucking is. We’re having a conversation. Right now.’

Jorgey glares for a second before nodding her into her office, sealing the door. ‘Make it quick.’

‘Why the hell are you all up here?’ Kristi demands. ‘There’s fights breaking out everywhere.’

Jorgey hesitates, feeling wretched and useless. She’s done for anyway. Pierre told her that.

‘Chief! Why are you all up here?’

‘I’ve withdrawn my officers for fear of their safety.’

‘You can’t do that!’

‘They’re not trained for this.’

‘They’ve got armour and voltage sticks! Just tell them to get down and stop the fights?’

‘Do not tell me my job! Domestic police don’t get tactical training. They stop one fight and don’t realise two more are breaking out behind them. I’ve got five officers already hurt and a dozen more had their weapons taken from them. I can’t police this, Kristi. I don’t have the resources or the support.’ She pauses for a second with a heavy sigh. ‘Listen, Pierre has already called for federal assistance. There’s a fast-response squad on the way. It’ll go off the second they arrive so I suggest you go and start filming as I’m sure your viewers will want to see the fun.’

‘Jorgey—’

‘We’re done here, Kristi.’

‘No, hang on. Why has Pierre called for assistance now? Why isn’t he appealing for calm? He should have imposed a curfew and ordered the bars to shut. Domestic police do contain these things. I film them all the time.’

‘I said we’re done here, Kristi.’

‘It’s not done like this. It’s never done like this. Have you actually seen Pierre?’

‘Kristi,’ Jorgey says, the strain showing on her features, her tone starting to bite.

‘Have you seen Pierre? Why are you just staring at me? You’re about to go down in history as a coward. As the chief that did nothing – is that how you want to be remembered?’

Jorgey folds her arms, feeling trapped and angry and used and useless, but Kristi is right and Jorgey will be damned if she’s taking the blame for this. ‘Get your camera up but don’t go live. I want this on record.’

Kristi does it quickly, bringing it up to start recording. ‘Go on. What happened?’

‘Captain Jefferson ordered me to arrest Helga Sveinsson and Abdul Shariff earlier today.’

‘For what?’

‘For anything. For treason. For mutiny, to prevent a riot.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘I said no because there was no evidence of those allegations. I did, however, offer to remove all of the protests, which would involve imposing the curfew and reducing the numbers on the ground to a safe enough level to deal with.’

‘But he didn’t let you?’ Kristi asks as Jorgey shakes her head.

‘He said I was choosing Helga’s side. Jean Schrieber was with him.’

‘So he’s bypassed the normal procedure and rushed to getting federal assistance, but them coming here will set it all off. Everyone knows that. Why is he doing that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You know more than you’re telling me.’

‘Okay, that’s enough. We’re done.’

‘Mahatma Goudier did not rob the Finance offices,’ Kristi says as Jorgey moves to open the door. ‘A woman called Yasmine did it. She stole something. Something about a code but it was hidden in some crypto. She didn’t mean to take it and the Elfor gang were trying to get it back.’

‘Kristi!’

‘This is all a smokescreen to hide whatever was stolen. None of this feels right, Jorgey! This is about the robbery and whatever was taken. What was the code for?’

‘What code?!’

‘The code Dmitri was yelling about when he was beating Yasmine and Sam. What’s it for? And why is Zhang on the Beijing? Is it connected to this?’

‘You’re clutching at straws!’

‘Why is Zhang on the Beijing?’

‘Zhang doesn’t work for me!’

‘What?!’

‘Kristi. Let this go. Because that,’ she adds, pointing to the camera. ‘Will not protect you.’

Kristi can’t let it go. She has to find the truth and the questions come out one after the other. ‘Who does Zhang work for? How did he find Mahatma’s body? How did he know to look for her? He knows what the code is. He was trying to get it back. That’s why he ran out of the porridge party. He was trying to help Yasmine. Who does he work for? Stop brushing me off! These protests are being used to hide something and you know what it is. You’re in this.’

‘I don’t know what it is!’

‘But I’m right, aren’t I. What is it?’

‘I don’t know. Honestly, Kristi. I don’t know. Something big.’

‘Tell me about the robbery.’

Jorgey snorts. ‘You sound like Zhang. That’s what he said. He said to use tell me to open the questions up.’

‘Is Zhang in danger? I can’t get hold of him.’

‘Why would you . . .’ Jorgey starts to ask as the realisation dawns. ‘Oh god, not you too.’

‘Yeah. Me too. We fuck like rats,’ Kristi fires back. ‘Is he in danger?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t reach him.’

‘Because of the overload?’

‘There is no overload this year. They fixed it.’

‘Fuck!’ Kristi says, pushing her hands through her hair.

‘I tried to help him. I fucking tried. He’s in it up to his neck.’

‘In what?’

‘Whatever this is.’

‘Who does he work for? You tell me, or I swear to god I will go live right now.’

‘Helga,’ Jorgey says as Kristi blanches in surprise. ‘Zhang’s a special agent for Helga Sveinsson. I think they set Mahatma up to blackmail Randolph to get that code out, but it went wrong. Zhang was trying to stop it, but he was too late. What are you doing?’ she asks in alarm as Kristi storms towards the door.

‘Going to see Helga.’

‘Kristi!’ Jorgey calls, running after her through the busy office. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘Fuck safe!’

‘Kristi, wait!’

‘What?’ Kristi turns back to glare at Jorgey, the two of them breathing hard as Sergeant Hopkins and his team watch on. ‘What?’ Kristi asks again, and Jorgey can see the woman is fearless. Kristi won’t stop until she gets what she wants. Jorgey used to be like that. Back in the day when the job was fun and the distinction between good and bad was clear. She’s finished now; her career is over. The tactical units will arrive. The Elfors will charge and they’ll be beaten back down. Helga will be arrested and detained. So will Jorgey and anyone else that Pierre sees fit, and Kristi is right. This is all being forced for something else. Helga even said that herself. She told Jorgey to be there when she needed her and Jorgey hates that she doesn’t know what’s going. This is her ship and she swore an oath to protect it.

‘Fine,’ Jorgey says, scanning her band on a weapons cabinet. ‘If this is how it is then fuck it.’ She takes two voltage sticks out that start charging with a whine and crackle as she turns back to Kristi. ‘Let’s go.’

53

Friday Night

Confucius Square

The Beijing

It starts with a woman in a white gown gliding from the gap in the Great Wall into the middle of the square to the strings of a harp sounding out. The opening act of the Chinese New Year celebrations now underway.

Abdul spots the dancer coming out and scowls at being here when he should be on the Humility. The feds will arrive any minute and he’s not there to protect his people. It feels like he’s hiding, but he has to be here in case Helga fails.

‘Have you heard from Sam yet?’ Janey asks as she rushes by with a tray full of synth bubbly.

‘Nothing,’ Penny says, angst showing on her face. ‘There’s no overload this year and Sam wouldn’t just go silent on us,’ she adds as Janey arches an eyebrow. ‘What’s that look for?’

‘Nothing,’ Janey says, turning away before coming back. ‘I’m just saying Yassy has a way of pissing people off. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘You are having a meeting, yes? A secret meeting. Can I join?’ Leo barges in as they offer tight smiles. ‘Why the sad faces? This is a party! And the porridge. I’ve tried it. I like it. I might start selling it. Haha! I can do that on my ship. I can take your crown, my old friend.’ Leo grins broadly as he joshes his old friend, clapping him on the shoulder a bit too hard and bit too often.

‘I’m still trading, Leo.’

‘Only just, Abdul. Only just.’

* * *

Sam sits in a quiet dark area near the end of the Great Wall with his screens open in front of him and his beaker of coffee at the side. The news feeds from the Humility show the increasing tension with more fights and acts of violence breaking out. He can hardly believe one side of the fleet can have a party while the other side is falling apart.

It creates a discord inside that adds to the imbalance within his mind, which in turn magnifies the confusion he feels. He should be happy. He should be joyous at being here and about to do something incredible, and in a way, he does, but then he figures it’s possible to feel many things at once, which really doesn’t help at all.

* * *

‘She’s not there. You said she’d be here. You fucking told me she’d be here,’ Dmitri says.

His glare is getting worse and he keeps ducking down to snort more powders, His body twitching with tiny spasms like the rage inside is bursting to get out. He’ll detonate soon, Karen can see it. She knows Dmitri, and any minute now he’ll kick off and start attacking anyone in his way.

‘They’re coming,’ she says with more assurance than she feels. ‘It’ll be worth it. Just hold on . . . not long now . . . Yassy will show up any minute.’

* * *

‘Shush. He could show up any minute.’

‘You said that ages ago,’ Sun whispers as they hunker down in the darkness, holding their bottles like clubs.

‘I know I did but unless you have another idea . . .’

‘I do not,’ Sun says reluctantly after a few seconds of thoughtful silence. ‘So, we’re just going to hit him then. Yeah?’

‘Yes!’

‘And then what?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Yasmine mutters. It’s getting hopeless and their energies are draining again as the fear rises. Which gets even worse when they hear footsteps coming.

‘Oh, shit . . . oh shit . . . I don’t want to kill him.’

‘We’re not killing him, we’ve just got to get him down,’ Yasmine says as the door opens and the same man rushes in with a grimace at the stench inside.

They lurch up on dead legs as the guy wilts back in fear of the two zombie ghosts lumbering at him. Both with matted black hair and covered in blood and gore, with bits of crackers around their mouths looking like dead skin.

‘MOM!’ he cries out, trying to turn as Yasmine clunks him on the head, making him yelp and stumble into Sun, who hits him from the other side. Another yelp and he twists back into Yasmine, who hits him again with both women clumping after him on stiff legs swinging bottles at his head.

‘Hit him properly!’ Yasmine yells.

‘I’m trying. You hit him.’

‘Please don’t bite me!’

‘Get his legs, Sun.’

‘You get his legs.’

‘Don’t get my legs!’

‘I’ve got his legs!’

‘PLEASE DON’T BITE ME!’

‘Why’s he keep saying that?’

All three land in the puddles of piss on the floor, the man still in the grip of a wild panic at being attacked by zombie-ghost-vampire-spaceship-monsters. At which point, to make it even more fun, the door closes, sealing them back into the darkness as the man bucks wildly, sending Yasmine flying off. He rises fast to his feet, then an awful thump sounds out, followed by silence, save for Yasmine and Sun gasping for air and wondering what the hell just happened.

‘Is he still in here?’ Sun whispers.

‘I dunno. Hey, guy?’ Yasmine calls out in Mandarin. ‘Hey?’ She starts groping out with her night vision now destroyed. ‘Hey? Are you okay? Oh shit. I’ve got him,’ she adds, feeling along his inert body to his head and the sticky blood coming from his skull. ‘Oh, fuck, no . . . no no no . . .’

‘Don’t say it,’ Sun says. ‘Is he dead?’

‘Hang on,’ Yasmine says, pressing her fingers into his neck. ‘Oh, thank god, he’s just knocked out.’

‘That’s really dangerous,’ Sun says, crawling over to join her. ‘He could have a brain injury. Get him in the recovery position.’

They roll him onto his side as gently as possible, breathing hard from the mêlée before taking his band over to the door scanner, which beeps and flashes red. ‘Fuck! It’s biometric. We’ll have to drag him over,’ Yasmine whispers.

‘We can’t. He might be hurt.’

‘Chop his fucking arm off then.’

‘What with?’

‘That was a joke, Sun.’

‘Shit joke, Yasmine.’

They put the band back on and drag the man over the ground and heave him up for the band to press the scanner that finally flashes green.

‘Wait here. I’ll go and look,’ Yasmine says, as she limps into a long corridor to a door at the end. She presses her ear, listening intently, then pulls back sharply at the sound of voices. ‘No good,’ she says, rushing back to Sun. ‘Try the other side.’

Back across the room they go, dragging the unconscious man behind them. A flash of green. The door opens but the light stays the same. Another pitch-black room and they both freeze until Sun drops the guy, making Yasmine jump.

She gasps again and reaches back for Sun, scrabbling for her hand as they start edging into the new room. ‘I’ve got something!’ Yasmine whispers as her fingers brush over something soft, warm and floppy. ‘What is that?’

‘Where?’ Sun asks, groping about until she finds the warm floppy thing. ‘Shit!’

‘What?’ Yasmine asks as Sun recoils sharply.

‘That’s a dick!’

54

Friday Night

Confucius Square

The traditional Chinese dancers perform a beautiful display for the opening act and a huge round of applause goes up when they finish and file back through the Great Wall.

A voice sounds out in English accompanied by giant 3-D words narrating in Chinese, Russian, French and many other languages.

Ladies and Gentlemen. The worldship Beijing welcomes you as honoured guests to our New Year Celebrations.

Chinese New Year has now come to mark the passage of time within our fleet and we give way once more to another year of hope that we will one day find a new planet.

And this year we have more hope than ever, because this is the Year of the Rat, and rats always find a home!

Laughs echo around the square because every ship has rats.

But without further ado the worldship Beijing presents to you the fleet’s brightest star.

Please give a huge welcome to Chi-Chi!

Thunderous applause breaks out as Chi-Chi runs out from the Great Wall while a loud beat starts coming through the speakers and the air fills with the Milky Way galaxy streaked with vibrant colours and thousands of beautiful glittering stars.

‘Let’s get this party going! Come on, Beijing! I can’t hear you! Louder! Make some noise!’

The first beat hits and Chi-Chi launches into her opening song, ‘Stay For The Stars’.

* * *

Over ten thousand miles away the Federal Personnel Shuttle docks at the VIP lounge on Level 20 and a tall, lean man marches out.

‘Commander Drago. Fed Tac Response,’ he says to the stunned airlock worker. ‘We’ve been ordered here by Captain Pierre Jefferson. Our boarding of your vessel is thereby legal and sanctioned.’

* * *

Kristi and Jorgey reach the stairwell on Level 25. Kristi’s camera still up and recording, but not broadcasting live. A great sense of urgency within both of them.

Jorgey knows the Feds will be here any second. Colin called her with a heads-up and said Drago is on his way.

They reach Level 30 and rush out past the toilets where Stella was hanged. Where Yasmine hid the uniform when she pretended to be Mahatma exactly one week ago. Into the lanes. Into the retail zone. Into a junction already blocked by two groups chanting and goading each other.

‘KILL THE SCUM . . . START THE RIOT . . . KILL THE SCUM . . . START THE RIOT . . .’

* * *

‘Squad leaders. Form your units up,’ Commander Drago orders as he swipes his system to make a call.

‘Captain Jefferson. My name is Commander Drago. I’m—’

‘About damned time! I ordered you over here hours ago.’

Commander Drago bites the response he wants to give and remains polite. ‘We’re here now, Captain. Are you happy for us to proceed?’

‘I wouldn’t have ordered it otherwise. Yes. Get on with. I want every one of those Elfor rats hunted down and sealed in the Elfors and I want Helga Sveinsson and Jorgey Raynor arrested.’

‘Understood, Captain. My advice is to remain in your office until you hear from me.’

‘Do you think I’m stupid? Just do your job, Commander.’

* * *

Kristi and Jorgey run back from the blocked junction into another walkway, only to find that also filled with people pushing and shoving at each other.

They try another walkway, building to a jog as two guys come flying from the front of an eatery, one on top of the other. Two women rush out after them, trying to pull them apart, but one of the women grabs the wrong man and gets whacked in the face by his wife and they start going for it. Shouting and yelling, guys grabbing at each other, placards flashing, chants echoing, and every route to the café seemingly blocked.

* * *

‘Listen in! We’ve drilled for this.’ Commander Drago addresses his troops. ‘You’ve all been briefed on the way over. Our mission is to protect the integrity and leadership of this vessel and to that end, regardless of any personal political views, we will be driving the Elforists back into the lower four via the main stairwell. Once contained, we will seal them in and await further instruction. Understood?’

While Drago gives his final orders the airlock worker discreetly accesses his messages system.

Oh my god! The feds just hit Level 20. They’re here!

He sends it to his airlock worker buddies and friends as the bar worker within the VIP lounge also turns away to access her system.

So, like the Feds just turned up at level 20 and the leader guy is like way hot. Swoooooning!

* * *

‘THE FEDS ARE HERE!’ The roar comes from those messages flying out and spreading at near light speed, with a great cheer echoing and rolling through the retail zone.

That’s it. That’s the spark, and the brawl in front of Jorgey and Kristi erupts into a mass fight with dozens of people all scrapping and trading blows.

‘We’re going through,’ Jorgey says. ‘Stay right behind me.’

Kristi rushes to catch up as Jorgey marches into the fight. Bodies staggering by, people screaming and rolling about on the floor. Three guys over at the side kicking into one man curled up. Jorgey sweeps the tip of a voltage stick over their backs and they fly off with shouts of pain as Jorgey presses the other stick into a man charging towards her.

* * *

‘Activate your armour!’ Drago orders his troops. ‘Sticks on!’ A massed whine fills the air. ‘Shields!’ A crackle from the shield-holders turning their front-charges on.

‘On my order. Units will proceed. My unit will take the first stairwell. The rest of you will take the stairwells designated to your squads. Work into the retail zone and sweep through to Sven’s Eatery then back across to drive them down via the main stairwell. Units! Units move out!’

* * *

Kristi watches as Jorgey takes the legs out from an aggressor with one stick while jabbing the other into the back of another man to clear a path through.

‘Where did you learn that?’ Kristi asks, rushing behind her.

‘I was a Tac Commander before this,’ Jorgey replies. ‘Are you live?’

‘No,’ Kristi says, glancing at her camera having not even thought about it.

‘Go live. People need to see this.’

‘Shit . . . er, hang on . . . Folks! This is Kristi Carter live from the retail zone on the worldship Humility, where, as you can see, the riots are starting. I’m with Chief of Police Jorgey Raynor desperately trying to reach Helga Sveinsson, but word has spread that Federal Tactical Response Teams have now arrived on the ship under orders from Pierre Jefferson to drive all Elforists back into the Elfors . . .’

‘GO!’ Jorgey yells, running through another junction filled with a mass brawl. Through the last walkway. Into the last turn and out to the front of the café.

‘FUCK OFF, PIG!’ someone yells out, pointing at Jorgey as Kristi runs in front with her hands up.

‘STOP! NO! DIL! DIL!’

Dil hears his name being yelled and spots Kristi Carter waving her hands as more Elforists charge towards Jorgey. ‘LEAVE HER ALONE,’ he bellows out, wading through with Marko and Svetty to reach them. ‘Get out of it, Kristi – it’s not safe.’

‘We have to get through.’

‘Love, go home,’ Svetty yells, pushing the angry people away as she notices Jorgey. ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’

‘She’s with me. We need to see Helga. Dil! Come on. Get us through. Jorgey’s okay.’

‘You vouching for her, Kristi?’ Dil yells, glaring at Jorgey.

‘I vouch. I vouch!’

‘We just need to speak to Helga,’ Jorgey says.

‘Don’t speak to us, pig. You’re only here cos Kristi says you can be here.’ He turns away, using his bulk to force a path through the crowd, Jorgey now staying at Kristi’s back, as the reporter takes her turn to protect the cop.

Into the walkway. Into a place teeming with people, with aggression and fear and faces etched with stress, as Dil leads them to the storeroom HQ and Helga inside.

‘It’s starting,’ Helga says into a holo call. ‘You get ready now. Just like we said . . .’

‘I won’t let you down,’ the other person says, as Helga cuts the call to look over at Jorgey and Kristi. A fire in her belly and a gleam in her eye.

‘Perfect timing, ladies. We’re just about ready.’

55

‘That’s so fucking gross.’

‘Stop being a drama queen. It’s just a dick.’

‘Why is there a dick in the middle of the room anyway?’ Yasmine asks as they hold a frantic whisper session within the pitch blackness.

‘I’m guessing it’s attached to someone.’

‘Urgh, that’s so gross.’

‘Are you sure you’re not a lesbian, Yassy?’

‘No! I just don’t like dicks. Other than Sam’s dick. I like Sam’s dick.’

‘Which you haven’t done anything with yet.’

‘Can we stick to this, please? Go and find out who the owner is.’

‘Why me?’

‘Cos you’re now the head of our newly formed penis department. Why isn’t he saying anything anyway?’ Yasmine asks, frowning into the darkness.

She gropes about to find him again as a noise sounds in the dark. A shifting of weight. She aims for that, taking Sun with her as they feel a pair of naked hairy legs then up over the groin with Sun giving the willy another poke just to be sure, then up over a naked chest to a face and a mouth covered by a gag. A heavy wrap around the eyes and ear blockers on his head. A naked man strapped to a chair and gagged.

‘It’s definitely a naked man strapped to a chair and gagged,’ Yasmine says.

‘Okay,’ Sun says, falling silent for a second. ‘I don’t know what to say to that.’

‘Where the hell are we?’ Yasmine whispers.

‘Maybe he knows. Ungag him and ask.’

‘He might scream or something. It might be a sex dungeon for all we know. Oh my god. We heard the sex!’

‘We did! Oh wow. We’re in a sex club.’

‘Urgh, I touched his willy after he had sex. I’m gonna puke. I’m actually gonna puke.’

‘Don’t puke! Oh, that’s gross, Jesus,’ Sun says as Yasmine spews beer and crackers over the floor. ‘You need help, Yassy. Seriously. Get some help.’

‘What for?’ Yasmine gasps.

‘We killed two men then clubbed another one half to death but it’s touching a soft dick that makes you puke. I’m ungagging him.’

‘Don’t ungag him!’

‘I’m ungagging him to find out where we are. He’ll just think we’re part of the sex club.’

‘Oh god don’t.’

‘Oh, shush. Be quiet and let me do it,’ Sun says. ‘And don’t freak out if I do sexy talk.’

‘What the fuck!’

‘So he doesn’t get suspicious,’ Sun whispers, edging back to the guy strapped to the chair, running her fingers lightly up his thighs, trying to be sensual and not arouse his suspicions, while also figuring something else might get aroused. ‘He’s got a nice stomach.’

‘I don’t care!’

Sun works up over his chest to his neck and tries to think what else someone would do in a sex club dungeon like this. They’d probably sit on him.

‘What are you doing?’ Yasmine asks, hearing Sun move about.

‘Sitting on him. Shush,’ she says, smoothing her hands over his shoulders as the guy finally starts squirming and mumbling under his gag. ‘Oh, you like that . . . yeah, you do . . .’ she says in English.

‘What the actual fuck!’

‘That’s my sexy talk,’ Sun says, shifting about to be erotic because that’s what would happen in a sex dungeon club. ‘Do I do his ears or mouth first?’

‘You’re a freak.’

‘I meant the gags.’

‘Oh. Er . . . ears, so he doesn’t scream.’

‘Okay. Shush then,’ Sun says, going back to her seduction. ‘Yeah big boy, you like that. Hmmm, so sexy. Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me?’

The man nods fast while blasting air in and out of his nose.

She leans in to lick his ear while shifting about on his lap. ‘I’ll take the gag off, but you have to stay nice and silent otherwise it goes back on. Yeah? Hmmm? Is that sexy?’

Yasmine turns her head away, gagging at the smells of vomit, piss and sweat, and trying not to puke again while Sun writhes on the naked man, who in turn seems to be shifting about on his chair as she works his mouth gag away. Still trying to be sexy, because that’s what they do in sex club dungeons.

And because of those noises, neither Sun nor Yasmine hear the young man who knocked himself out crawl towards the red light of the door scanner in a bid to make good his escape from the zombie monsters now having sex in English.

‘Oh yeah. Hmmm. Sexy, sexy. Gonna get that gag off and put nice things in your mouth . . . yeah? Do you want that? Yeah you do, big boy . . .’

The young man crawls away. Yasmine starts feeling her stomach heaving. Sun pulls the gag away while licking the guy’s ear. The guy squirms. The worker crawls. Yasmine heaves. Sun licks. The worker surges for the scanner. The gag comes off. Sun licks. Yasmine vomits. The naked guy gasps air and the scanner beeps with the door opening and the rooms flood with light.

Light enough for the worker to glance back to see one of the monsters licking puke from the floor and the other one trying to eat a naked guy strapped to a chair.

Light enough for the naked guy to blink at the dazzle, then scream at the cracker-caked piss-smelling blood-soaked hair-matted woman licking his ear while Yasmine Emile Dufont vomits on her hands and knees, and light enough for Yasmine, turning her head while puking, to see Sun licking Zhang Woo’s ear while he screams and she pukes and the worker cries out and about-turns so fast he runs into the door frame and knocks himself out again.

56

Confucius Square

The first song reaches the climax with thousands of people singing along, while Sam sits at the back by the Great Wall, gripped by the live broadcast from Kristi Carter that just showed her and the Humility chief of police racing through walkways that look like warzones. Mass brawls and fights everywhere and Sam’s heart is starting to race. Not just from that, but from what he is about to do here.

* * *

Karen starts to fret that Yasmine won’t show. That the plan will fail, and Dmitri will turn on her. Another look shared with Osmosis. A question in his eyes. She shrugs, not having the answer to give, and around her the hardened killers and thugs dance to the music.

* * *

Leo dances too. Why wouldn’t he? This is his ship and, as he said, everyone knows him. He swings his hips and claps along, playing the part of the jovial local trader. The king of the Hutongs. A violent thug who demands respect through fear.

His men and women all around him, staying discreet as they watch Abdul and his guys. A growing sense of pressure within all of them. Tension showing on their faces.

Motion from the side and Yuey walks over with an expression Leo understands before she says a word. ‘I couldn’t do it, Uncle. I’m sorry.’

Leo nods and gives an order to Bohai, who heads off with several of his guys as Leo steps into the shadows to make a call.

‘Is it done?’ the quiet man asks.

‘It’s being done now. But I want no comeback from this. My threat was years ago when Yuey was young. They can do what they want now. He’s a cop. His mom is the chief of—’

‘Leo,’ the quiet man cuts in. ‘Get it done or the hit will be on you.’

* * *

‘Have we got one hell of a show for you guys tonight!’ Chi-Chi calls out when her first song ends. ‘Live from the Beijing for THE NEW YEAR!’

The cheers go up with applause and foot stamps filling the air. ‘And what a year it has been for all of us in this, our fleet. Our home in the stars. This is all we have, guys. Just each other,’ she says as the dancers run back through the wall to change and make ready for the next song. ‘And you know what? I’m just a simple girl from the Bustees—’

‘BUSTEEES!’ someone yells out to more chants and calls.

‘That’s right. Up the Bustees!’ Chi-Chi says, fist pumping the air. ‘Haha, but I’m just a simple girl with a simple message. And do you know what my message is? My message is that no matter what we go through, no matter where our fleet takes us, “I Won’t Cry For You!”’

The beat kicks in with a funky upbeat tune. Sexy and bold. A song about empowerment and how a woman shouldn’t cry for a man, and she starts moving as the dancers strut back into the square, all sassy and pouting and full of attitude.

* * *

‘What the fuck! Yassy? What the hell are you doing here? And stop licking my fucking ear! Jesus. You stink,’ Zhang says, turning his head away.

‘I was trying to be sexy!’ Sun says.

‘Well it’s not fucking working. Get off. Yassy? What the fuck are you doing here? Stop puking!’

‘Can’t. I touched your dick,’ Yasmine says, thinking that she has now touched Zhang Woo’s penis, which in her head means she has just touched every vagina said penis has also touched.

‘I think she’s got a penis problem,’ Sun says.

‘Get off my lap!’ Zhang snaps, bucking hard as the piss-smelling blood-soaked cracker-caked woman finally slides off to land on the floor as the outer door closes. ‘Great. Now we can’t see anything.’

‘Good!’ Yasmine coughs while wiping her mouth.

‘Do you two know each other?’ Sun asks.

‘Shitting hell, Sun. What gave it away?’ Yasmine asks. ‘Why are you in a sex club on some weird ship, Zhang?’

‘We’re on the Beijing you fucking idiot.’

‘Are we?’ Yasmine asks.

‘I said that,’ Sun says. ‘I did. I said that.’

‘Why are we on the Beijing?’ Yasmine asks.

‘Cos you ran here with Sam after you stole that fucking code! Just fucking untie me.’

‘I’m not touching you with that thing dangling about,’ Yasmine says.

‘Just untie me. They’ll be coming.’

‘Yeah we heard you doing that too,’ Sun says. ‘In your weird sex club. I didn’t even know we had sex clubs here.’

‘It’s not a sex club! Quick. Get my wrists . . .’

‘Fuck me,’ Yasmine gropes around to his back and finds his hands, fingering the binds about his wrists. ‘What’s going on, Zhang?’

‘Just get the knot off.’

‘I am! There, it’s done.’

‘Do my legs.’

‘Do them yourself.’

‘My hands are numb!’

‘I’ll do them,’ Sun says, crawling over to work at the binds about his ankles.

Zhang grunts from the searing agony as the blood starts flowing back into his hands then a few seconds later the same in his feet. ‘They’ll be coming – I can’t fight. Rub my hands. Quickly. And my feet. What’s the licker girl’s name?’

‘Hey, I’m Sun. Do you want a foot rub?’

‘If this is some weird sex thing, Zhang?’ Yasmine asks.

‘Just rub my fucking hands!’

‘Is that nice?’ Sun asks, massaging his feet as he stiffens from the pain. ‘Yeah, you like that big boy . . . That was a joke,’ she adds when they start swearing at her.

‘Who’s coming?’ Yassy asks.

‘He is by the sounds of it.’

‘Sun!’

‘What? I’m stressed and a bit drunk.’

‘Zhang, I’m going to ask you one more time before I strap you back down.’

‘They took me last night when I was going for the shuttle.’

‘Who did? Why?’

‘I came back for you and then – shush!’ he whispers, listening intently. ‘Fuck it. They’re coming back.’

Bohai marches along the corridor with his guys behind him, his face still marked and bruised from the run-ins with Zhang. The fucking prick should have left when he could. They’ve been trying to scare him away all week.

Yuey said there was a hit out on Zhang, but her uncle didn’t want to do it for fear of repercussions because of Zhang’s family. Then all of a sudden that was squared away, and they were told to take him. They did it last night when Zhang was going for the shuttle. Darting out from an alley to grab him in the dense crowds going by. Zhang fought back, but a few voltage sticks going in at the same time soon took him down. Then he was brought here. Stripped naked and tied to a chair. Yuey said she would deal with him. But, as it turns out, Leo’s niece couldn’t quite bring herself to kill her old lover.

Yuey did try, and after building it up in her head she went to the back room with the intention of finishing Zhang off. But he was there. In a chair. Naked and bound with his eyes covered, and for all the wrong reasons she found it erotic. It matched what she and Zhang had always been about. That dark, awful energy between them. That obsessive love that they knew would one day destroy them. There was something about the power of it, too. That she could do what she liked with him. That he was hers to toy with. To play with. An object. A possession.

She pulled the binding from his eyes and played with him. She aroused him and she sat over his lap, taking him inside. He hated every single second of it and thought about Kristi while it happened, her hands on his body and her lips kissing his neck, and when he orgasmed, he imagined it was with Kristi.

Yuey watched him for a very long time after they finished. Simply standing naked in front of him with a knife in her hand. Her eyes locked on his.

She had to kill him. The hit was ordered. She even held the blade to his throat for several long moments, but she couldn’t do it. In the end she got dressed, kissed him on the cheek and went back to Uncle Leo to watch the show, knowing Bohai wouldn’t fail.

Bohai has no such reserves about killing Zhang. As he reaches the door to the cage room a foul stench of piss comes out. ‘Dirty bastard,’ he says, turning his head away. ‘He’s pissed himself.’

They file across the first room and Bohai opens the door to the second one. It swishes back as one of the guys behind him activates a panel to bring the dim lighting on.

‘Zhangy! Guess who it is,’ Bohai says, sauntering over to Zhang, bound and gagged with blood dripping from his skull. He reaches out to lift Zhang’s chin, feeling the weight of it. ‘Yuey’s fucked him unconscious, lads.’

Laughs and sniggers from the others as Bohai slaps Zhang’s face a few times. Big strips of material over his eyes and mouth and ear blockers over his head. Bohai pulls them off with a sudden realisation as Zhang charges in from the cage room with one of Sun’s sleeves wrapped about his wrists to gain leverage as he comes up behind the last guy in the room. His hands and feet still hurt like hell, but he chokes the man from behind as the rest turn and draw Taser pistols to fire fast, the needles hitting their own man who convulses from the shock while Sun and Yasmine launch bottles of beer into the room. Full bottles that hit faces and heads, making the guys flinch and spin away as they cry out.

But that was what Zhang needed. He needed them to exhaust their first shots and take one of their own down to buy him time.

He spins the guy about, ramming him headfirst into the wall with a sickening thud. The guy goes down and drops his flexi-pipe. Zhang grabs it fast and runs out to slam it hard into another knee-cap. A crunch of bone, sickeningly loud, and the man screams out in instant agony as Zhang drives the weapon down into his skull, killing him outright. An awful thing to do, but that’s what this is now. It’s kill or be killed, and that act sends a wave of aggression through the room. The violence shows within all of them – not just Bohai and his men but Sun and Yasmine too. All of them realising how serious this is and the fight erupts. A frightening and horrible scrap in a dimly lit room that stinks of piss and vomit.

Yasmine goes in fast. Wild Yassy. Crazy Yassy, and this time she does hit hard. She clubs a man on the back of the head with the full bottle. He lashes out with a fist, knocking her back and turning around as Sun breaks his nose with another bottle.

Zhang tries to dance back and stay out of range, but his feet won’t work like normal. A shot fired from a Taser pistol misses as he ducks, but the next one hits his arm. He grunts and tries turning as another man clumps him in the side with a flexi-pipe. Zhang yells out in pain and catches sight of Yasmine on the man’s back with an arm around his neck, the other hand gouging at his eyes. Another one going for Yasmine. Zhang goes in, striking the man hard in the leg, making him stagger. Zhang hits him again, breaking his arm, then fracturing his skull. Three down, and he turns back to see Sun grappling to get the flexi-pipe from the man trying to get Yasmine off his back. All three of them spinning and crashing about the room, knocking into the unconscious worker on the chair, and all of them going down to roll in the puke.

A crackle from the side. A voltage sticks hits Zhang. He lashes out with his pipe. The man turns away with a grunt, then comes back, ready to finish the job as Bohai charges with his own flexi-pipe raised. Yasmine rolls on the floor, snatching the pipe from the man she took down and slamming it into the shin of the attacker going for Zhang.

‘Fuck you!’ Bohai cries out and as Zhang dances back. His blood’s flowing better now, his limbs his own, and Zhang feints right, then goes in hard from the left. Clubbing at Bohai, smacking the stick out of his grip. Breaking his arm, breaking his shoulder and finally breaking his head as Bohai falls down with blood coming from his ears. Yasmine on her back, the pipe across the guy’s throat as he rolls on top of her. Sun struggling with the other one. Zhang rushes over to help Sun, slamming his stick down on his head. Killing him instantly. Sun lunges up and out, diving over to help Yasmine choke the last man, the two women grunting and gasping to commit murder once more, both frenzied and wild-eyed.

‘It’s done,’ Zhang gasps, pulling Sun away before heaving at the guy on Yasmine. ‘It’s done – he’s dead—’ The man rolls free as Zhang staggers back and slumps down. All three of them sucking air in while about them lie the corpses amidst the puke and piss. Thoughts spinning in Yasmine’s head, ideas and notions as she runs it all back in a flurry of images. The whole thing, from start to finish – but then her mind always did work best under pressure.

She rolls over to paw at the band on a dead man’s wrist, knowing she won’t gain entry because the system will detect she’s not the owner, but she can at least see the day and time.

‘Shit – it’s Friday night. Up. Get up,’ she says, pushing to her feet and staggering over to grab Sun’s arm. ‘We have to warn Abdul. Zhang! Get up. We have to go . . .’

‘Warn Abdul about what?’ Sun asks again. ‘Yassy!’

‘It’s Leo, Sun. He’s the one robbing your mom. He’s doing an Elfor drop on Abdul and he knows about the code. He’s working for them . . .’

57

‘Thank you!’ Chi-Chi calls out when the song ends. ‘Did you enjoy that?’ The crowd erupts again and Sam starts feeling sick, snatching glances from the news feeds to Chi-Chi, thinking this might have been the stupidest idea he has ever had. Why did he say yes? What was he thinking? But he can’t take his eyes off the broadcast of Kristi Carter confronting Helga in the storeroom at the back of the café.

* * *

‘I want answers!’ Kristi says as people across the fleet tune in to her broadcast, many of them bringing dual feeds up to show both the celebration on the Beijing and the ongoing clusterfuck on the Humility.

‘I’m sure you do,’ Helga replies, her face a mask of tension, ‘but sadly we do not have the time.’

* * *

A few levels below the cafe, within the guard station, Faiza slowly looks out on the sea of faces beyond the platform. Robby The Blind’s at the front, alongside Willy The Rake and Twinkle Toes Tommy and Sally Mole On Her Nose. Hundreds behind them. People who know they will starve and die if the Elfors are sealed in.

She looks at her stair guard colleagues, all of them terrified by the imminent threat of an Elfor charge. ‘Stand down and go home to your families. Go! I SAID GO!’

* * *

‘Ma’am!’ Dil calls out, running into the storeroom HQ. ‘The feds are on Level 30 and the mobs are coming our way.’

‘Fuck,’ Sam says, watching it from the edge of the square on the Beijing.

‘Thank you, Dil,’ Helga says, very aware of the camera broadcasting live. ‘Get ready please, Ivan. Olga, you too.’

‘Ready for what?’ Kristi shouts. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Whatever I have to for my ship,’ Helga replies.

‘You just damn well wait!’ Kristi shouts as the viewing figures continue to rise with people across the fleet opening bags of synth popcorn to watch the drama unfold. Sam too, his heart going like the clappers, while knowing he has to get ready for what he came here to do.

‘I know there’s more going on,’ Kristi shouts. ‘This is about the robbery, isn’t it? Something was stolen and it wasn’t just crypto. It was something big enough to risk the safety of this entire ship.’

A look from Helga. A startling in her eyes as Kristi realises she just struck a nerve.

‘Fuck,’ Sam mouths on the Beijing.

‘Ma’am!’ Dil shouts from the doorway of the storeroom, a sense of rising panic in his voice.

‘There’s no time now, Kristi,’ Helga says, tugging her mesh jacket off to stand in a tight black top. Knowing she has to divert attention from what Kristi just said. ‘You want to film this, you carry on, and I hope to hell people across the fleet are watching. They need to see it because we’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘See what?’ Kristi yells out with pure frustration.

‘What I am about to do for my ship,’ Helga says, bringing a flexi-pipe up from behind the desk. ‘And if we don’t act now, thousands of innocent people will die. Jorgey, with me please . . .’

* * *

‘Guys, this has already been a magical night,’ Chi-Chi says as the lights grow darker throughout Confucius Square. ‘And I am honoured to be here performing for you. New Year is a special time for all of us. A time to give thanks to the amazing people we meet on our journey through life . . .’

Sam blinks in shock as he glances up to see Chi-Chi staring right at him, and that sick feeling inside gets a thousand times worse.

‘So perhaps now is a moment to slow things down,’ Chi-Chi says, as a virtual grand piano shimmers to life in front of her and someone runs out with a stool. She lowers down and takes a few practise strokes of the keys. ‘Learn to play a virtual piano, they said. It’s easy, they said.’ A few laughs from the crowd. She looks at the back. To the shadows and the guy behind the screens. ‘Are you ready?’

Sam snaps his head up while thinking he really isn’t ready, oh and by the way, there’s literally a riot about to take place at Sven’s Café, but he can’t say that so he nods at Chi-Chi, who finds the notes to start the haunting ballad, ‘Dance For The Light’.

A huge cheer erupts with applause and so much foot-stamping Sam can feel the vibration through his fleet.

A few seconds later the stars come to life above Chi-Chi, with Pretty Boy’s now instantly recognisable opener. Gasps and murmurs ripple through the crowd. Penny frowns. Clara the same. Abdul and his guys too, as they realise Sam is here.

Chi-Chi suggested they do something together one day. Sam said sure, he’d love to do that and a few hours later, while feeling lost and alone and angry at being used, he agreed to this. He agreed to Beaky performing live, and while he watches Helga on one feed, he sends Beaky out to twirl across that stage with his skinny arms up in the air and his skinny legs clad in bright red ballerina shoes and a red tutu about his base.

A huge response from the thousands watching it live, while millions more spread through the fleet smile and cheer at the sight of Beaky and Chi-Chi performing live at the same time.

* * *

Ten thousand miles away Helga strides along the walkway outside the café as the mobs move through the retail zone towards her. A rush inside of Kristi: she has no idea what’s happening, only that she is here and witnessing it.

‘Are we ready?’ Helga calls out.

‘We’re ready,’ Dil says, and Helga swipes her band to make a call to Faiza a few levels below, who answers and turns the feed so Helga can see the massed gathering beyond the platform and, in turn, they can see her. But more than that, everyone else watching it also sees that sea of faces stretching off into Neon City.

‘I don’t have time to make a speech,’ Helga calls out, as the space about her grows quiet. ‘Pierre Jefferson has taken advantage of Abdul being away and ordered a Federal Tactical Response Team into this ship. They are here now, and they have orders to drive every Elforist back down and seal you in. That is going to happen. The thing we feared the most is happening right now.’

Gasps and murmurs. Fear showing on faces. Resignation and deep worry.

‘And I made another promise to you. I promised I would lead this fight. And I will. But Abdul isn’t here and I cannot do this alone. The federal officers will be aided by the protesters and they will win, and we will all die if we do not make a stand right now.’

‘Fuck,’ Kristi says, reeling at the words as Helga breaks off to look at the Chief of Police.

‘I told you to be ready when the time came, Jorgey. Now is that time.’

Jorgey doesn’t trust Helga one Elfor inch, but she trusts Pierre even less, and by doing nothing she has already had her side chosen for her. She looks out at the expressions of hatred from the people forced to live in squalor and deprivation, and the image of Stella’s hanging body comes to her mind. She feels played and manipulated. Like she and everyone else here is a pawn in a game, but the price of doing nothing is either being sealed in the Elfors, facing arrest on made-up charges, or – worse – being found hanging just like Stella, and it will keep going and going. This has to end, and she cannot be impartial any longer. It’s time to pick a side.

‘Captain Jefferson ordered me to arrest Helga Sveinsson and Abdul Shariff. He ordered me to turn on the Elforists. I refused that order and I was told I would be targeted along with Helga and Abdul and sealed in the Elfors.’ She pauses to look at Helga. ‘Therefore, I, Jorgey Raynor, Chief of Police for the Worldship Humility, stand with Vice-Captain Sveinsson. I stand with the Elfors—’

‘THEY’RE COMING!’ A shout from the front, and an instant escalation in noise.

‘Now!’ Helga shouts into the feed, her eyes blazing with fury. ‘FAIZA! TAKE THE STAIRS!’

* * *

‘I’ve got them,’ Sun says, grabbing a pile of clothes dumped at the side of the room as a still naked Zhang Woo runs over. ‘But seriously, you are like really buff.’

‘Not now, Sun!’ Yasmine snaps. ‘Zhang, hurry up.’

‘Tell me again,’ Zhang says, pulling his boxers on.

‘Leo has been targeting Abdul’s businesses over here, and probably on the Vladi too, and other ships, but Penny’s been too busy running his political stuff to deal with it.’

‘What’s that got to do with the code?’ Zhang asks.

‘Leo’s working with them.’

‘Them?’

‘Them! The people who know about the code. Probably the same people that killed Mahatma, and trust me you don’t want to fuck with these guys. We caught them taking perishables to restock the tombs and—’

‘You saw that?’ Zhang asks, cutting across her.

‘Yes!’ Yasmine says, urging him to move faster. ‘We’ll talk later. We need to get out of here. Where’s your band?’

‘Yuey took it.’

‘How do you know it’s Leo?’ Sun asks. ‘Yassy. My mom can’t fight Leo. He’s a gangster. He runs the Hutongs.’

‘Hang on, Sun. Zhang, what the fuck are you doing over here anyway?’

He shoots her a look while pulling his shirt on. ‘Long story, but Leo told me to stay off this ship because of his niece when I lived here. I followed you over and I got caught when Helga called me back—’

‘Helga? Holy fuck. You work for Helga? So it was her that lost the code. Shit. Why didn’t you just fucking ask me? I was only after the crypto.’ She blasts air, shaking her head as another thought hits. ‘But that’s ratshit about Leo’s niece. You wouldn’t kill a cop because he had sex with someone ten years ago. I’m telling you, Zhang. This has got nothing to do with your dick.’

‘Nice dick by the way.’

‘Sun!’ Yasmine snaps. ‘We have to go.’

Zhang hefts his flexi-pipe and follows them over to the door, all three then coming to a stop to curse and go back for the still-unconscious worker.

‘That fucking song again,’ Sun says, hearing ‘Dance For The Light’ blasting from somewhere before they reach the end door in the corridor, and realising the music’s coming from behind it.

‘This is what we’re going to do,’ Zhang says. ‘I’ll open the door and charge in to draw their attention while you two run for it and contact Abdul.’

Yasmine pauses for a split second, weighing the odds. ‘Sun, when that door opens, me and Zhang will fight. You run for it and contact Abdul.’

‘Fuck that! I’m staying with you.’

They break into a furious whisper-argument at the same time as the door opens from one of Leo’s men wondering what’s taking Bohai so long and finds three people crouched on the floor waggling an unconscious man’s arm about, while behind him Beaky twirls in the air in red ballerina shoes and a red tutu.

* * *

Several things happen at once within Sam’s mind that all serve to create a moment in history.

While he types to make Beaky dance across that stage, so he delves into that deeper sense of thought that comes when he codes. The act of it opens the pathways in his brain and allows him access to his emotional state, which somehow then travels through his fingers and into the representation that everyone else sees. Which is Beaky on the stage above Chi-Chi.

And because of that connection, his mind fills with the image of Yasmine. A woman he fell in love with who used him, and his loss and grief and that sense of confusion play out in the way he makes Beaky move and spin. As he translates his emotions to that cartoon beaker holding millions of people spellbound.

While that happens, Sam also becomes aware of the explosion of violence on the Humility.

He just heard Helga’s call to arms. He saw the passion in her face, but more than that he saw the fear, because Pierre Jefferson has ordered the Elfors to be sealed, and that’s not right.

It’s not right at all, but Sam also feels confused about Yasmine and Abdul and the things those messages told him that all rang so true. And because of the music, because of Chi-Chi’s haunting vocals and because of the live-coding which opens his pathways to allow him that deeper layer of thought, so he discerns that his issues with Yasmine and Abdul are not the same as the Elfor crisis.

He realises, in this singular moment of history, that he has to act and that the fleet has to see this. It has to be done and there’s no hesitation now. No doubt either, and while translating his emotions through to that cartoon beaker he does one simple act. He sends the news feed showing Kristi’s live broadcast into every giant screen in the square. All of them switch from covering this event to showing Helga in the walkway on the Humility.

The crowd gasp on seeing it as Chi-Chi snaps her head up to see the walkway outside the café explode to action. Men and women grabbing tables and dragging them out so they can be flipped over to make a barrier, while the chief of police, Jorgey Raynor, shouts orders to make them ready. ‘We need a solid wall. Plug that gap. Get another table in here. Brace it and make ready . . . hold your ground.’

It’s an incredible thing to see. That raw, frenzied action and those orders being shouted against such a violent seething backdrop.

It’s a moment that comes to define a point in history, because that song – that powerful song, and Beaky’s broken-hearted dance become the backdrop to the utter savagery of violence exploding in so many places at once as Commander Drago and his units charge into the first huge brawl, while more feds run into lanes and walkways. Dressed in black and wielding weapons without mercy, because they have to be hard and fast. They have to get control.

That song becomes the backdrop on the platform outside the guard station too, where squad leader Faiza Nuneer lifts her voltage stick in the air. ‘TAKE THE STAIRS!’

That song becomes the soundtrack. It defines what this is as the fleet watches the Elfors finally charge and break free, to riot and take the ship.

Pierre Jefferson watches it too with a thrill in his gut as he shoots to his feet and cheers for the feds to destroy the scum. Jean Schrieber next to him, his eyes wide at the carnage.

The Level 1 security team, now bolstered with extra numbers, stack up in the corridor outside to watch it on their own feeds, while in the square Beaky dances and Chi-Chi plays to the gathered thousands and the millions more across the fleet.

* * *

Zhang slams his flexi-pipe into a man’s leg as the three of them charge the room, screaming as the workers yell in fear. One of them gets clear to make a desperate call to Yuey.

‘Zhang’s out!’ he screams as Yuey glares into the call to see Zhang with Yasmine and Yolo’s daughter.

Chi-Chi sings and Beaky dances as Yuey rushes over to her uncle who nods and makes a call to the quiet man.

‘What?’ the quiet man asks, shouting over the sound of the furious battle underway outside the café.

‘Zhang’s got free,’ Leo says. ‘And he’s got that woman with him. Abdul’s worker. Yasmine. She’s with him. And Sun Sing. In my warehouse.’

‘Of course she is,’ the quiet man says to himself with an eye-roll. ‘She’s a clever girl. I’ve got a crew over there from the Humility. Find them and get down there.’

The quiet man cuts the call to make another one to Karen Big Feet staring at the carnage on the screens over the square.

‘Yasmine is in Leo’s warehouse with Zhang Woo. Join forces with Leo.’

‘We’ve got her!’ Karen says, grabbing Dmitri. ‘I know where she is. Ossie, stay here and keep watch for Pretty Boy.’

* * *

Penny and Abdul stand with their people outside their unit. Every single one of their heads turned up to the violence on the screens. To the Humility erupting in riots, with Chi-Chi’s voice filling the arena with that haunting soundtrack. Their hearts beating hard. Adrenalin inside at wanting to be there. At seeing that Helga’s plan is happening right now.

‘Fuck,’ Penny says, pulling her eyes away to look at Beaky. Motion from the back of the square. ‘There!’ she cries out, pointing across to Dmitri and Karen and more bruisers and killers from the Elfors running with them.

‘Go,’ Abdul says as he sets off running, with the rest of his security team bursting to action behind him.

* * *

The protesters at the main stairwell chant and rejoice in wild victory. The feds are here. Pierre has ordered them in. The Elfors will be sealed. That means they have won, and they scream out ecstatic victory while the mouth-frothers clasp their hands together in fervent prayer that Saint Goudier gave her life that they all may live in safety.

‘THANK YOU!’ Gretchen cries out, clasping her hands together as she stares up at the image of Mahatma. ‘WE DID THIS FOR YOU, MATTY!’

Another roar sounds out, deeper and growing louder. A rumbling noise. The sound of feet coming up the stairs, and Gretchen lowers her head with a curious expression as Faiza, Robby and Willy turn the corner to start up the last flight.

Gretchen’s face falls slack and her expression slowly changes from fervent belief and jubilation to absolute horror as her biggest fear comes true. The monsters are free. She steps back, shaking her head. Refusing to believe this is happening. They’ve won, the feds are here. The Elfors cannot break free, it’s not possible.

Then they hit, and the protesters who blocked the stairs find themselves staggering out as a tidal wave slams into them from behind. An eruption of motion and violence from fists and feet. From pipes and sticks, and as Gretchen’s eyes widen in fear so her nose breaks from the punch delivered by one of Stella’s friends and the blood sprays up through the ever-loving gaze of Saint Goudier.

* * *

‘POLICE OFFICER! GET OUT NOW,’ Zhang shouts out in Mandarin in Leo’s warehouse, his voice loud and powerful and making more than a few turn and flee to get clear of the violence. A few bodies lying about, clutching broken limbs and crying out in pain. ‘Yassy. We’re going now!’

They sprint hard through rooms and sections, through corridors and offices and into the warehouse. Fighting anyone who comes at them, teeth bared and eyes wild.

As they run for freedom, Karen and Dmitri and their crew drop into New Shanghai with someone yelling out behind them.

‘WAIT!’ Yuey shouts. ‘You want Yasmine, right? We want Zhang. We’ll take them together . . .’

* * *

The battle for the café becomes very brutal very quickly as the first chanting mob breaches the end of a walkway and the Anti-Elfor side of the protest finally detonates and charges at the wall of tables.

The air fills with the sound of grunts. With the screams of the hurt. With yells of rage and orders being shouted. Missiles thrown from both sides, people dropping in pain, and the compression is immense from so many people slamming into the tables, with more joining them by the second.

Helga’s side is slowly driven back, with no hope of getting free. But Helga has to get free. She has to reach the stairwell. That’s why Faiza was tasked with taking it, to keep it clear for Helga.

The footage from the broadcast is astonishing. The sheer bedlam of it, with two defined sides and one huge swathe of people attacking a small line of tables curving out across the walkway to Sven’s Eatery. The crowds in Confucius Square become instantly gripped, darting eyes to Chi-Chi and Beaky, and back to the screens.

‘We have to get through!’ Helga shouts, grabbing Jorgey to pull her back.

Her voice comes out in the square and across the fleet. The desperation in her tone and expression.

‘You haven’t got a hope in hell,’ Jorgey yells back. ‘All we can do is hold our ground.’

‘Holding here won’t do anything! We need the stairwell. Once the feds get here this will be over. We have to go now, Jorgey!’

Jorgey turns back, trying to see a way through, but the solid press of people coming at them is just too much. And there are more joining, drawn to the epicentre and running in to add weight to the scrum attacking the table-wall.

Everyone can instantly see the dilemma, and how futile it is. They all heard that Helga needs to take the stairs, but she can’t break free.

Sam watches it too, while coding the fastest he ever has, to make Beaky dance and spin through the stage above Chi-Chi. A simple coffee beaker in a stupid red tutu with skinny arms and skinny legs, but it’s his eyes and expressions with his motion and grace and the music that sells it. That seems to blend and match the angst and drama on the screens. The pain inside Sam transferring into Beaky and translating into his performance.

The sudden loss Sam felt when he realised he had been used. That his new friends weren’t his friends at all – but it’s more than that. It’s the idea that he was pawing at Yasmine when she never wanted him that way, and that cripples Sam. He thinks about the time outside the hotel room when they were making out and how she must have hated it. He compares that to the video he saw of Yasmine and Dmitri and he compares himself to that man and Beaky dances with his face etched in sadness and pain as he leaps and turns. As he dances to rid the heartbreak inside.

Chi-Chi, like everyone else, knows the Elfor crisis has meaning for Pretty Boy. That’s why he hacked the screens. That’s why he’s doing this now, and so she plays and sings with everything she has, and that moment of history creates itself as the energy within her and Beaky holds the square in rapt silence.

And it all seems to come from the energy in Sam. It’s driven from him. A roaring darkness that has to vent, and he codes to make Beaky leap higher, twirl faster and dance with fury. His fingers blurring, his face a mask. His eyes showing the hurt. He lost his career. He lost his cabin. He gave it all away and used his skills to commit crimes for people who lied to him.

Sam would never do that to someone. But then he’s not a muscular gangster. He’s not an alpha male, and Yasmine never wanted him anyway, but it hurts when he thinks about her. It hurts so much. He’s known her for such a short time, but she’s come to define his life. She’s changed everything, but it was never true. He’s a fool. An idiot. A sad loser, and Beaky dances as Sam feels his heart breaking over and over with a spike of raw energy that speaks of the anger buried within. But that bad energy cannot be sustained, and Beaky starts to slow.

His leaps become shallower. His twirls slower. He stumbles and falls and a gasp sounds out, but he gets back up and tries again. He tries so hard, but it’s no good. He’s beaten and he stumbles across the stage. Losing his balance and losing his hope as the lights above start to fade.

* * *

As Beaky starts to falter, Yasmine, Sun and Zhang batter their way across the warehouse. Slamming sticks into bones, while Sun zaps them away. She punches, too. She kicks and brawls. She gouges and bites and they get through, running with nothing but adrenalin inside. Leo is the one robbing her mom. Sun knows that now and so the rage she has against his men shows no mercy.

Yasmine knows something else too. Even when fighting and running her mind still works, and she’s worked it out. She was the bait. That’s why Zhang was here: to lure Dmitri out, or anyone else trying to get the code back. That’s why there hasn’t been anything happening with the code. Because it was happening. It’s been happening the whole time, she just didn’t realise it. But now she does. Now she sees just how big this thing really is. The Elfors. The riots. The murders. All of it. The whole thing is about the code, and if she doesn’t break free Sam will die, and so she fights to get out. She fights and runs with Zhang, who finally has someone to fight for. Images of Kristi flash through his mind.

But it’s hard. It’s brutally hard, and they start to wane and falter as they reach the end. Staggering and sucking air in. Pulling each other along. Each cut. Each hurt. Each bleeding.

* * *

They start to feel the same loss of energy at the café because the sheer press coming at them is just too much. The hatred for the Elfors has been whipped up to a level even Helga cannot fight. She left it too long to fight back. She rushed her plan through with nothing more than blind hope, and now it’s failing. It’s all failing, and Pierre will win.

It shows on Helga’s face. On Jorgey’s face. On Dil and Svetty. On Marko and Erik in his apron, giving his shoulder to hold the barrier. They’re being driven back and any second now they will be overrun. The feds will get here. The end will come and the Elfors will be sealed.

* * *

That fading energy reflects in Beaky. The pain inside showing and making his movements slow. The pain inside Sam pouring out. Beaky stumbles and falls again, and this time he doesn’t rise. He can’t, it’s too much. It’s all too much, and he falls down with tears falling from his eyes. With tears wet on Sam’s face. With tears coming from the thousands watching in the square and across the fleet. They can see Helga will fail. She never stood a chance against so many, but she still tried, and even now she pushes them on. Refusing to give in. Refusing to concede. Her voice shouting loudest of all, giving them the energy they need to hold and withstand the pressure.

* * *

In the warehouse, Yasmine, Sun and Zhang stagger, with blood weeping from wounds. Bodies hurting, but they keep going into the foyer. The Hutongs are just beyond, freedom now so very close. The final door ahead of them. Safety beyond it. A last gasp and they stagger into the walkway as Dmitri and Yuey’s crews charge into the other end. So many of them, too. Men and women in black, and all holding weapons.

‘Go back!’ Yasmine cries out, grabbing at Sun as they spin about but there are people in the foyer behind them. Blocking their retreat.

* * *

Beaky weeps on the stage in the air above Chi-Chi, the lights growing dark above him. His tears falling freely. Sam too, crying as he codes.

The thousands watching it all in the square do the same thing, the horror showing on their faces.

All hope becomes lost.

For Helga. For Jorgey. For everyone at the café. For Yasmine facing Dmitri running at her. For Zhang facing Yuey and the rest of Leo’s men. Sun feels it too. They all do.

There is no future. There is nothing to rise for. There’s nothing to fight for and Sam’s fingers finally come to a stop as he stands with his chest rising and falling.

A moment in time. A moment seared into the hearts and minds of every person watching.

A moment of loss. A moment of regret. A moment to realise the plans you had were nothing more than folly because there is no future and there is no hope.

A moment in which Helga sees the barrier starting to buckle.

A moment in which Sun, Yasmine and Zhang stare at the gangsters blocking their way out. A moment in which a great silence settles in the square. A moment in which Abdul and Clara and Penny run through the Hutongs.

A moment in time. Nothing more and nothing less.

A moment in time in which Sam’s soft voice comes from every speaker in the square and, by proxy, out to the millions of people watching the broadcasts.

‘The universe is filled with energy. From microscopic particles to more complex biological structures co-existing within eco-systems upon planets caught in the gravitational orbits of burning suns alongside billions of other star systems all within galaxies swirling towards the pull of supermassive black holes.

‘That means that neither the universe, nor anything within it, is ever still. Space might appear empty and silent, but it’s not. We just can’t hear or see it.’

The feeds playing throughout the fleet magnify that voice. In millions of cabins. In thousands of places and in the Hutongs too, for the people who stayed home to watch the celebrations in their shacks and cabins, and Sam’s voice drifts over to Yasmine staring at Dmitri.

‘But we are travelling through it, and we are all we have. There’s just us.’ Sam pauses to look up at the carnage on the screens. ‘They say that the period on Earth when they knew the meteor was coming was the best humanity will ever be. That all wars ceased, and billions of people gave everything they had, knowing that only a fraction of them would ever survive . . . and for what? So we can live in the ships those people made using the tech they gave us and kill each other because some people got locked in? At what point in our history did the Elfors become a dirty word? At what point did we decide they were less than human? At what point did we ever dare to take the sacrifices given by a whole planet and use it for enslavement and oppression—’

A boom sounds out. Generated by Sam. Deep, and filled with so much bass it makes the crowds flinch and cry out.

‘When did the Elfors become a dirty word?’ the voice calls out, but it’s not Sam’s voice now. It’s deeper and louder and stronger and it’s rising with anger as Sam types.

‘WHEN DID THE ELFORS BECOME A DIRTY WORD?’ It roars with such volume that people blink and wilt back and Sam sends the footage and that voice through the wristbands on the Ark and by the main stairwell. He puts the voice through every place he can think of and that voice sounds out in the Hutongs, too. So loud and deep that Karen and the others look up and about, but not Dmitri. He sees only Yasmine. He sees only the person he could never have.

‘Where is that coming from?’ Yuey mutters, turning about in the walkway as one of her men brings a feed up showing the broadcast coming from the square.

‘WE PROMISED NOT TO BE LIKE THEM. WE PROMISED NOT TO DO WHAT THEY DID ON EARTH. SO TELL ME, WHEN DID THE ELFORS BECOME A DIRTY WORD?’

* * *

‘We have to get through!’ Helga shouts in desperation.

‘Don’t tell me. Tell that,’ Jorgey shouts, pointing at Kristi’s camera as Helga spins about to face it.

‘If you can hear this. We need numbers here. Faiza! Anyone hearing this. WE NEED SUPPORT!’

A flash of anger surges in Kristi and she grabs at the vice-captain to pull her out of shot. ‘You don’t use my camera without telling me what this is about.’

‘I won’t,’ Helga says, staring into her eyes. ‘I can’t. Not yet.’

‘Does Zhang work for you? Just tell me that!’

‘Yes! He’s my agent.’

‘Then where is he? He said he was coming home. He promised me he was coming home.’

‘It’s you,’ Helga says with a snort of laughter as the realisation hits. ‘You’re the reason.’

‘What reason?’

‘Kristi Carter. Of course.’

‘JUST TELL ME!’

‘That,’ Helga says, leaning in to point at Kristi’s angry expression. ‘That is why he’s in love with you. Because you’re strong. Now you hear me well, Kristi Carter. You look after my agent because if you break his heart it’ll me coming after you. Now help us, because if we lose here, we will all die. Zhang included.’

Kristi reels back. Stunned at the words. At what they mean, and the way Helga says them. The passion in her voice and in her eyes. Zhang tried to warn her. He said don’t pull at this thread. He watched her sleep and he danced for her and now Helga Sveinsson is vouching for him. ‘Fuck,’ she mutters with frustration at still not knowing what this all means. ‘FUCK!’ she cries out, seeing how desperate the situation is as she points at Helga. ‘This is for Zhang,’ she says as she steps in front of her camera. ‘Folks! This is Kristi Carter live from Sven’s Eatery where Abdul gave refuge to Elforists when everyone else turned on them. Where he protected Stella – and right now, Helga Sveinsson is calling for help from any Elforist listening to this broadcast.’

‘Kristi! What the fuck are you doing? Do not take sides,’ Kasim roars in her ear.

‘That’s right, folks. Helga Sveinsson is fighting to save the Elfors and is calling for help . . . HELGA NEEDS HELP!’

Sam routes that feed to as many places as he can while bringing images up in the square. Huge 3-D holographic images of people. Dozens of them. One after the other, then another and another. Men and women of all sizes and shapes. Of all colours and creeds in all manner of uniforms and clothes. Some of them static frames, other clips of people in motion that Sam recorded, many of them from the concourse in the Ark. Groups of workers talking together. Technicians of all types. Security officers. Managers and admin staff. Lifters and carriers. Stewards and cooks, and that clip of the spacewalkers moving through the concourse. Dozens of images all flashing up to fill the square as the crowds and the viewers all watch it.

‘THEY COOK OUR FOOD. THEY CLEAN OUR OFFICES. THEY KEEP OUR POWER RUNNING. THEY GIVE US WATER TO DRINK AND AIR TO BREATHE. THEY TAKE OUR WASTE AND THEY GIVE US LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. THEY GO OUT INTO SPACE AND KEEP US MOVING . . . WITHOUT THEM THERE IS NO FLEET. TELL ME AGAIN, WHEN DID THE ELFORS BECOME A DIRTY WORD?’

The voice roars out as Sam bathes the square in UV light that instantly changes the images of people hanging in the air, because every single one of them has stick-figure tattoos.

On arms and necks. On hands and shoulders. On backs and chests. Stick-figures in freefall. Stick figures holding tools. Stick figures counting numbers, and gasps sound out from the instant effect and the realisation it brings.

But that light bathes the people too. In the square and on the Humility where the defenders holding the barrier suddenly glow with stick-figure tattoos all over their bodies and that image sears into the viewers across the fleet.

It changes the perspective instantly. It gives clarity to the sides and marks them out as defenders. It shows them to be almost a new race of people being targeted simply because of where they live. And those figures hanging in the square – those pictures show the fleet that Elforists are in every part of their lives. Doing the jobs they don’t want to do.

Elforists in the crowd start feeling strange too. A stirring in the guts. Elforists in cabins and offices across the fleet feel it. In every place, in every job, any person watching it with a stick-figure tattoo hardens their eyes in that way Elforists do.

‘THE ELFORS RUN THE FLEET. THE ELFORS ARE THE FLEET AND RIGHT NOW HELGA NEEDS YOUR HELP.’

A cry from the barrier at the café. Every head snaps over to watch the screens, and a great roar goes up as one of the tables is wrenched away. Forming a hole. Forming a breach. Forming a gap that the Anti-Elfor side all aim for. Grabbing at the tables either side, ripping them away and it’s done. It’s over. The feds will soon join the Anti-Elfors and they’ll be crushed. Their hope will be taken. Their freedom and lives too.

‘GET AWAY!’ A shout makes Helga snap her head over to see Dil gesturing wildly, the ink on his arms glinting and glowing as he waves his hands. ‘GET HELGA AWAY!’ he screams, pointing at Olga and Ivan as the missiles come in. As the wall buckles and breaks.

A hand on her shoulder, and Helga turns so very slowly to see fingers covered in stick-figures. The hand too, and the arm, as she looks up at Ivan trying to pull her back. He doesn’t speak. Neither does Olga. A rush inside. A weird feeling. A great sense of something that Helga hasn’t felt before.

‘YOU HAVE TO GO!’ Jorgey screams, turning to face Helga. Blood on her face, her lips split and bleeding. Her hair wild and her eyes wilder. ‘GET HER AWAY!’

‘PROTECT HELGA!’ Dil roars, and that feeling inside grows stronger. In Sam, and in every person watching it. A rallying call. A sensation inside that makes Sam want to be there right now. That makes them all want to be there right now, because of the look on Helga’s face.

A feeling inside of Helga too. She feels it the same as everyone else. A rising rage that surges up. Scheming, manipulative Helga. Cold, calculating Helga. Pierre held her down. He stripped her clothes and hit her. He said she was old, and that rage comes on with a sudden sense of loyalty for a place and a people she never once cared for. A glare to the camera, to Pierre in his office, with a flash of Elfor defiance in her eyes.

A flash of Elfor defiance in Yasmine in the walkway as she looks at Dmitri. Each one of them picked out by the Elfor ink they wear. Dmitri. Karen. Simon and the others. Yasmine looks at the man who ruined her life. Who tortured her for hours and made it impossible for her to ever connect with another man until Sam, and she knows deep in her heart that if Dmitri kills her, he will also kill him. And she swore she would never let that happen.

A flash of defiance in Sun who lifts her chin and fixes her eyes on Yuey, remembering the hardship her mom endured.

A flash of defiance in Zhang. His face hardening and his grip grows tighter on the flexi-pipe. A flash of defiance within all of them. In Jorgey. In Dil and in Marko who found Stella’s body. In Svetty and Dorka.

And that flash of Elfor defiance shines in the eyes of the people from Neon City who stand in Ghost Street under that UV light with their stick-figure tattoos glowing bright. Carla and Honey. Lick Lick and Ferdy. Dancers and servers.

Across the square people look down at the marks they tried to hide and feel that thing inside. Tens of them. Dozens of them. Scores and more. Old men with old ink. Old women, too. Workers who escaped the squalor to start new lives. People who bribed and stole and did things to get away, so they could find work in any quarter doing any job. In cabins and offices men and women roll their sleeves to look at their ink in the light coming from their feeds. Ink that was always hidden because you could never advertise what you were. Flashes of defiance in all of them.

‘Ferdy,’ a guy says, pushing through the crowd with a nod, his bare arms showing his ink.

‘Pikey,’ Ferdy says, nodding in return as more come. As more push through to join their kin. They can’t be with Helga, but they can be here.

But the greatest defiance of all comes from Helga who refuses to concede. Even now when she knows she’s beaten. She should hide or beg forgiveness. She should withdraw and seek clemency, but she doesn’t. The Vice-Captain of the Worldship Humility lifts her flexi-pipe and screams out before pivoting the way Abdul showed her. Striking the way Abdul showed her. Taking a big man down with a spray of blood that spatters them all.

Helga Sveinsson taking arms to defend the downtrodden and weak. A sight recorded and broadcast live as millions of people watch Beaky and Helga at the same time. As the quiet man feels a rush inside at the sight of it. As the roar goes up in the square from everyone watching it. As the roar goes up across the fleet, and on the Humility cabin doors open with Elforists old and young streaming out. Running for stairwells. Running for Level 30. Another roar in the Elfors proper with a second charge detonating and scores more charging the stairs.

A roar from the café too, as Olga and Ivan fight to protect Helga. Dil screams. Marko too. Svetty and Dorka and Erik The Rolls. Janey Dead Leg and Jorgey Raynor. All of them slamming into that wall. It becomes frenzied within a second. A war waged right here. The barrier buckles with attackers getting through to fight within. Kristi wilts back, terrified at the explosion of violence. At the absolute carnage, and she screams when an attacker slams a fist into Erik The Rolls, driving him down with vicious hits.

‘NO!’ Kristi shouts. She saw this before. She saw Stella going down and she couldn’t do a thing. She grabs a chair and swings it hard. ‘GET OFF HIM . . .’

That flash of Elfor defiance reaches Sam, who ran through the rain, who saw and felt and absorbed what it means to be an Elfor and he gives thanks that, if nothing else, he got to meet Yasmine Emile Dufont.

She used him. She took what she needed, but that’s what life is. It’s harsh and brutal and he has no right to complain, because without Yasmine his life would have been spent at his airlock and he wouldn’t be here now and this wouldn’t be happening and for that he gives the thanks due and lifts his hands to code – to make that second spotlight shine down as Tiny Beaker leaps into the stage.

Chi-Chi smiles through the tears and surges up from her stool to hammer at the piano keys and sing out with her raw, powerful voice, and the crowd stirs and cheers Helga on. They give what energy they can while the Elforists flock to the unit in Ghost Street.

‘Fuck ’em,’ Yasmine says to Sun and Zhang. All of them feeling that Elfor rage inside. Faces hardening. Lips curling up as the fight that was coming explodes into being. ‘FUCK THEM!’ Yasmine roars as those three grip their weapons and charge at the many.

‘COME ON!’ Helga screams, battering a man down while feeling the ground sliding beneath her as her side is pushed back. Jorgey beside her, slashing with her voltage sticks. Dil headbutting a guy. Olga hefting a man off his feet to throw back into the crowd. Ivan snarling as he slams a huge hand on the arm of a guy going for Helga, and snaps it across his knee.

‘HOLD!’ Helga cries, to show there will always be hope. You just have to hold on and not give up. You have to take the pain, because that’s what life is. It’s equal parts pain and joy and without either the other would not exist, and the crowd cheers as Faiza leads the charge through the walkways. Elfor tattoos shining on her arms, her face cut and bleeding. Robby The Blind is with her. Twinkle Toes Tommy. Sally Mole On Her Nose, and Elforists behind them. Elforists who heard Kristi calling for help. Elforists who ran in after hearing Sam urging them on from the Beijing. Elforists who saw Helga charge the line, and that great swathe of numbers slams into the attackers going for the café, as people across the fleet surge to their feet with adrenalin pumping through their veins.

Yasmine feels it too as she runs at Dmitri. At a solid wall of bad people coming at them. But this has to end. This has to end right here, because she promised above all else that she would do what it takes to protect Sam. Dmitri’s eyes lock onto hers. The man who raped her when she said no. The man who tortured her. And Sun is right – she does have a problem – but it’s because of that man. Because of Dmitri, and he rips her from her feet with his hands at her throat, lifting her up into the air to land heavy on her back with Dmitri on top of her. His face twists with pure sadistic violence while hers turns red. But then the strangest thing happens – Yasmine smiles up at him. She grins and laughs at the monster, who grows furious at her lack of fear, and pulls a hand back. He clenches his fist as Yasmine takes the thing she kept for this very time, without ever thinking it would happen so soon, and as Dmitri pulls his arm back, Yasmine smiles and pulls the trigger on the pistol. The pistol she’d kept to kill Dmitri, because that’s the thing with the nine mil rounds in this gun. They are designed to bounce about in the body, and they do that now. Through his ribs and lungs and stomach and through his spleen, as the searing agony makes him cry out with blood spurting from his mouth.

‘Dmitri,’ she says, grinning up at him through bloodied teeth. ‘Sam is better than you – and guess what? We fuck like rats . . .’ She fires through Dmitri’s rotten heart, and the monster finally dies as Faiza gets to Helga with an army behind her that turns the battle within a second, and as Abdul the Angry finally reaches the walkway.

The walkway, still bathed in UV light, shows the stick-figure tattoos all over his hands and arms. Over his neck and over his bald head and face. The stick-figure tattoos that seem to shine as he races through the battle with his team slamming into the fight, and as Yasmine fires the final shot, Abdul swings a flexi-pipe into Dmitri’s head with every ounce of his strength, without realising the man is already dead.

58

It should be over, but not yet.

‘Ma’am!’ Faiza yells out, rushing to Helga through the chaos.

‘You’re hurt, Faiza.’

‘I’m fine – we have to go!’ Faiza yells as someone pours water over her face while Helga sluices the blood away with her bare hands.

‘Ivan, tear my sleeve off,’ Helga orders as Ivan grabs and pulls the material to rip it free.

‘Ma’am! I need you to listen to me!’

‘I am,’ Helga says, wrapping the sleeve around Faiza’s head before planting a kiss on her cheek. ‘I’m proud of you, Faiza. I want you to know that. Jorgey! We’re going.’

‘ON ME!’ Jorgey yells out as the rallying cry goes up.

* * *

It should be over but not yet.

Dmitri is dead, and the brawl that only just started in the walkway outside Leo’s warehouse suddenly ceases at the sound of those gunshots. Everyone snapping heads over to see Yasmine surging up to her feet at the same time as Abdul spins around, the same fury in their eyes because they know that speed and aggression count for everything now.

‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ Yasmine yells, rushing at Karen who cries out when Yasmine grabs her hair and slams the butt of the gun into her nose. A crunch of bone and the blood spurts out thick and fast as Chatty Simon runs at Yasmine’s back but is dragged back by Clara, her arm around his neck while she drives a voltage stick into his side.

‘FUCKING BITCH!’ Sun shouts, the man who attacked her now cowering on the floor. She snatches up a voltage stick and charges at Yuey, jabbing her again and again as Yuey screams from the pain – but Sun’s rage is too much and the voltage stick isn’t giving her the revenge she needs, so she staggers back and hefts a fallen flexi-pipe before going back in with a vicious thump to Yuey’s shin.

Mad Eyes Ken tries to turn and run but he slams into Pasha, who sends him back into the path of Abdul, who swipes out with his own flexi-pipe, breaking his arm.

It’s an awful thing to see. A vicious, nasty beating, with Abdul ditching the pipe to slam hard fists into Ken’s face. Punching him again and again while Yasmine does the same to Karen and Sun goes at Yuey, but this is how justice is delivered when there aren’t cops or lawyers around. And the beating goes on. Wild and awful, the air filling with grunts and gasps and the sounds of fists hitting wet meat. Ken gargling on his own blood and Karen begging Yasmine to stop.

Penny looks away, unable to see it. Clara starts to shift and drops Simon, who slumps down, unconscious. She shoots a look at Colin, all of them thinking the same as those hits keep coming. As the violence keeps going until even Zhang can’t take it.

‘That’s enough,’ he cries out, grabbing Sun around the waist to pull her back.

‘GET THE FUCK OFF ME!’ Sun yells, fighting to break free.

‘Abdul, enough!’ Penny shouts.

‘It’s not enough!’ Abdul yells as he pushes up from Mad Eyes Ken. ‘IT’S NOT ENOUGH.’ Abdul the Angry in full rage, his face gleaming with tattoos. ‘I say when it’s enough.’ He heaves Ken up and wraps his arms about his head.

‘This is what happens,’ Abdul says, turning a circle so they can all see, as Yassy grips Karen’s hair, forcing her to watch. ‘This is what happens if you touch one of mine.’ A grunt. An explosion of power, and Ken’s neck is snapped.

* * *

It should be over, but not yet, and Chi-Chi plays while Beaky dances and the crowds cheer Helga on to fight through the walkways.

The quiet man watches it with a thrill inside, his eyes glinting in the reflection from the feeds. A call comes in. He tuts in irritation and swipes to answer.

‘Why the fuck hasn’t that bitch been stopped? Tell Drago to cut them off. Do you fucking hear me? Do your fucking job, you little cunt . . .’

The call cuts, and the quiet man rolls his eyes and goes back to watching.

* * *

‘Fuck!’ Pierre yells out in his office, cutting the call to the quiet man as he goes back to pacing while Jean clutches his tumbler with an ashen face.

‘They can’t get up here, can they?’ Jean asks.

‘Of course they can’t, I’ve had the door codes changed. Damn it – if you want something done do it your damn self.’ He swipes to make another call, huffing with impatience until it connects. ‘Drago!’

‘I’m busy,’ Drago shouts while driving his unit through the lanes.

‘Watch how you address me, Commander. That fucking cunt is going for the stairwell.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘HELGA! She’s with Jorgey. They’re on the news going for the damned stairwell. Do your job.’

Drago cuts the call and brings a feed up showing Kristi’s broadcast and the huge numbers with Helga charging out from the cafe. ‘ALL UNITS. DIVERT TO THE MAIN STAIRWELL.’

* * *

It should be over, but not yet, and in the Hutongs they all stare at Abdul’s face and head glowing with tattoos. At the body of Mad Eyes. At the body of Dmitri. At Yuey gasping in pain and Karen being gripped by Yasmine.

Too many things are happening at once and Colin snatches a glance at the feed still open, showing the square above them. The screens in the square showing Helga’s run through the walkways of the retail zone. Sam behind his own screens and Chi-Chi playing the piano as that music becomes the backdrop to this moment of pure life.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Zhang asks, moving closer to see Helga and Jorgey charging through the lanes. Then he spots Kristi and takes another step forward as his heart seems to lurch inside. ‘Where are they going?’

‘Main stairwell,’ Colin says without taking his eyes from the feed.

‘The stairwell? What for?’

‘Pierre brought the feds in to seal the Elfors. Helga’s standing against him . . . she’s rallied the Elfors,’ Colin says.

‘Then why the fuck are we here?’ Zhang asks. ‘Get a fast shuttle!’

‘We’re the back-up plan,’ Abdul says. ‘If Helga fails and the Elfors get sealed in then we’re all that’s left to try and get them free.’

‘That was the feds!’ Colin yells out, pointing at the holo feed as he glimpses figures in black at the far end of a walkway.

A feeling of impotence inside Zhang, that he’s here watching it instead of being there. That’s why Helga called him back, to be there now. And Kristi is with them. Wearing one of his shirts.

‘We need more eyes up,’ Colin says. ‘Penny, Call Kristi and ask her to put two more cameras up. One facing either side – we need a bigger view.’

‘That’s the news broadcast,’ Penny says. ‘It’s not a private feed.’

‘Call her,’ Zhang urges. ‘Penny! Call her . . .’

Penny makes the call and Kristi feels the vibration on her band as she runs through the utter chaos.

‘Penny, not now!’ she yells with her own news camera capturing the conversation as Chi-Chi falls silent on the piano, and Sam stops coding once more, and everyone stares entranced at the screens.

‘Kristi!’ Zhang yells as Kristi sees his face in the call.

‘Zhang! Where have you been?’

‘There’s no time. We need two more cameras up. One on either side—’

‘I’m broadcasting!’

‘We need to see the sides. Helga won’t make it – she has to get there before the feds—’

Kristi grunts while running. ‘Did you stand me up?’

‘Kristi! We don’t have time.’

‘I’m live on air and I’m about to lose my career so I need to know you didn’t stand me up, Zhang. I need to know this means something.’

‘I didn’t stand you up. I swear it, Kristi . . .’

The silence of a second, in which Carla Big Lips feels a crushing pain inside as the dream she always harboured about Zhang disappears.

‘Kristi,’ Penny says, moving into shot. ‘He didn’t stand you up.’

‘You vouch, Penny?’

‘I vouch, Kristi.’

‘You tell him to get home. You tell him we’ve got a new coffee machine . . .’

‘I’ll tell him,’ Penny says, cutting the call as the thousands in the square watch on, in air made thick with tension. All of them watching screens that suddenly go blank, before coming back with a triple split.

‘Yes!’ Colin says, focussing on the new view. ‘They’re being flanked . . . both sides.’ He takes his turn to make a call. ‘Jorgey! It’s Colin. The feds are flanking you.’

Colin’s face looms up in the square from Kristi’s cameras capturing his call to Jorgey. The whole fleet clenching fists and edging closer. Everyone staring with wide eyes and hearts beating like mad. The drama of it. The twists and turns sucking them all in.

‘Which side?’ Jorgey asks.

‘Both sides. They’re cutting you off. You can still do it. Just keep going, Jorgey. Push on!’

‘What do you think I’m fucking doing!’

‘Push harder! You have to run. Drago will get there before you.’

‘I’ve got Willy on a call,’ Robby shouts at Jorgey, running to her side. ‘He’s beaten the protesters back from the stairwell but they’re forming up to attack again.’

‘That’s the last walkway, Jorgey,’ Colin calls out. ‘You’re right there. You have to charge it.’

Into the last lane they go. Into the final stretch as Colin watches the feeds, seeing alleys to the sides and the feds pouring past the ends. Going faster too, because of their training and better equipment. Drago pushing them on. Running hard to reach the stairwell and cut it off. All of his units heading there as he hears the live updates from the teams already there.

‘WE’RE LOSING THE STAIRS!’ Willy The Rake shouts into the call.

‘WILLY’S GETTING OVERRUN!’ Robby shouts over to Jorgey and Helga. ‘The feds are there—’

‘The feds are there, Commander,’ Jorgey shouts, reverting to Colin’s old title from all the years they spent working together.

‘FUCK!’ Colin yells out, making those around him flinch, because Colin never gets angry. ‘Jorgey, you listen to me. You have to charge it. CHARGE IT, JORGEY! YOU FUCKING CHARGE IT!’

Another roar from the crowds. From Chi-Chi and Sam. From the Elforists in Ghost Street. From everyone watching.

Jorgey sprints with everything she has while in the next lane over, Drago does the same. Running like crazy. Lungs bursting. Hearts hammering. Everyone in the fleet willing Jorgey on.

Pierre glares at the feed. Jean on his feet. Both of them tense.

A desperate few seconds in which Jorgey believes she can win. She can get there first and defend the space until the rest arrive, and she breaches the end with her teeth bared. With every vein in her head and neck pushing out – only to see the area in front of the stairwell already thick with black-clad figures holding shields and blocking her off.

A great groan sounds out in the square and across the fleet. The anguish of it is almost unbearable. Faces etched with angst, hearts galloping, because they all knew Jorgey would make it. She’s the good guy and the good guys have to win, but there’s a sea of black uniforms blocking the stairwells.

Drago runs out a second after Jorgey, coming to a stop in the mouth of the next walkway along.

‘So close,’ Penny whispers as Colin swipes to add another person to his call with Jorgey.

Drago answers and looks into his feed showing Colin and Jorgey. Kristi’s split camera captures them all.

‘You always were faster than me, Jorgey,’ Drago says, all three of them staring at each other while a great silence settles in many places. A silence broken by another call coming in, that Drago swipes to answer.

‘Arrest that fucking bitch!’ Pierre shouts into the feed as Kristi zooms a camera in on Pierre’s outburst.

‘Captain!’ Jean calls in alarm, seeing the news feed as Pierre turns away to pace the office.

‘You get those vermin into the Elfors and seal the whole place in. You hear me, Drago. I want Helga kicked down those fucking stairs with that cunt Jorgey right behind her. You get them down there. You seal them in!’

‘Captain!’ Jean shouts.

‘Get a hard border on and let those fucking rats eat each other. She thought she’d win. She honestly thought she could rally those fucking vermin. You hear me, Drago. You do your damned job and get them down there, and get an arrest warrant out for Abdul too. I want every Elforist on this fucking ship beaten into submission!’

Drago stares at the almost purple face of Pierre screaming abuse and he looks over to Helga. Her blonde hair plastered to her head. A tight black top clinging to her body and her chest heaving. Her face etched with passion and streaked with blood and sweat. A flexi-pipe in her hand at her side.

‘Get on with it!’ Pierre shouts. ‘Don’t just fucking stand there you retarded cunt!’

Drago looks at Jorgey and Colin, remembering the lives they all used to live when they were on the Ark. Jorgey was the Tac Commander back then. Colin was the Investigations Commander. Drago was a captain. It’s obvious to everyone watching it that they know each other, and that moment holds the fleet spellbound. Feeling it. Hearing it.

‘I will have your fucking job, Commander Drago! Do you hear me. I will have your fucking career if you don’t move now.’

‘You pick a side, Drago,’ Colin says into the call. ‘But so help me god you will have to put me down next—’

‘And me, Drago,’ Clara yells out.

‘And me,’ Pasha shouts.

‘AND ME!’ Ferdy yells from Ghost Street as more Elforists join in while Drago looks over at Helga standing with a ragtag bunch of misfits behind her and then at Pierre screaming abuse into the call. The call that is being filmed and broadcast live right now by Kristi Carter.

‘Chi-Chi!’ Sam shouts, typing fast as he brings a camera up while activating the wristband still hidden behind the potted plant just feet away from Drago and Jorgey. ‘You’re live! Right there . . .’

Chi-Chi runs out, sprinting across the square to reach the camera as her image blooms up in the air by the stairwell. ‘Commander Drago! We’re all watching this. The whole fleet is watching this, and we vouch for Helga Sveinsson. We stand with the Elfors!’

The roar comes as Sam lifts the camera to widen the view to the crowds of thousands all cheering.

‘DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, COMMANDER!’ Pierre roars out, spittle flying from his lips. ‘MY PEOPLE WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU . . .’

A grunt from Drago. A single eyebrow flicking up. ‘UNITS!’ he roars out, hushing the cheers. ‘UNITS WILL HOLD THIS STAIRWELL . . . and you will let the vice-captain pass. All yours, ma’am . . . Good luck.’

59

It should be over, but not yet. Helga rises through the levels to reach the security station on Level 20 and the guards standing to attention.

‘Stand down and go home,’ Faiza says as they pass.

‘We’ll stay,’ one of them calls. ‘In case you fail . . . we’ll wait for Abdul and help him.’

It was the night Helga slipped into Neon City. Faiza saw her trying to get through the guard station, and as is often the way, Helga saw the influence Faiza had. The way she speaks to people, the care, and she saw that look in her eyes too. The Elfor look. So Helga did what she’s good at and quickly found out about Faiza’s life. She discovered Faiza’s brother wanted to join an engineering school on the Ark but couldn’t afford the admission fee. That’s why Faiza worked so many shifts. A few hours later and the admission fee was paid, and Faiza was team Helga through and through.

Now she rises with her. From Level 30 to Level 1, and it should be over, it should be done. It almost is, but not yet. Not quite. The quiet man watches the footage while ignoring the calls coming in from Pierre. A glint in his eyes, a smile touching his lips because chaos creates confusion, and from confusion come the opportunities. Helga saw that, and she risked her own life in the process.

But then Pierre did smash her offices up. His men pinned her down while they stripped and humiliated her, while Pierre called her old and smacked her backside. The quiet man heard it. The quiet man hears everything.

What did Pierre expect would happen after that? And now there she is. Queen Helga climbing the stairs, a standing army at her back, with a cause to fight for.

* * *

It should be over, but not yet, and as Helga climbs the stairs Abdul looks from the feed still being broadcast by Kristi and stares over to the bodies of Dmitri and Mad Eyes and at Yuey still clutching her broken leg.

‘What happened to you?’ Abdul asks, looking at Yasmine. ‘And why is Yuey here?’

‘Leo’s the one targeting your stores. They’re taking goods from your stores to restock the tombs. Perishable shit. Like drugs that are going out of date. Leo’s working with them to—’

‘Yassy, slow down,’ Penny says.

Yasmine spits blood to the side, gasping for air as she holds Karen’s hair in one hand and the gun in the other. ‘There are two sides to this. Helga’s on one side but she lost the code and sent Dmitri in, but he fucked up and killed Randolph, then went for me and Sam, then Helga panicked and sent Zhang over here to use me as bait to lure Dmitri out. But these fuckers,’ she says while yanking Karen and pointing the gun at Yuey’s men, ‘they’re working for the other side. Leo’s working with them and his payoff is doing an Elfor drop on you.’

‘Who are they?’ Penny asks.

‘I don’t know who they are. But it’ll have something to do with that,’ she adds, pointing at the screens showing Helga.

‘How the hell do you work this stuff out?’ Penny says, walking over to join them. ‘Was she right?’ she asks Abdul.

‘Almost. But there’s not two sides.’

‘There is,’ Yasmine says. ‘Helga’s on one side and the people working with Leo are on the other side. Whatever. I need to get to Sam.’

‘Sam’s fine,’ Abdul says, still not looking away from the feed. ‘Ferdy’s keeping an eye on him, along with about a thousand angry Elforists looking for a reason to kick off. Trust me. Sam is safe.’

‘Then why are we standing here?’

‘Because there’s more than two sides to this. We are one side. Helga was another, and yes, she lost the code. But she lost it from Pierre who is not the person Leo is working with.’

‘She’s there,’ Colin says, making them all turn to watch the feed.

* * *

Helga frowns at the door to the Level 1 offices. The scanner flashes red when her band presses to it and it should be over. Almost, but not yet, and she turns to look at the camera with an eyebrow raised. ‘You have access . . .’ she prompts, as the millions of people across the fleet wonder what the hell she means.

‘She means me!’ Sam says with a start, and Helga’s band bleeps with a request for a remote access. She gives consent and Sam goes in to let his door-hacking software join forces with Helga’s Level 1 security status in picking a fight with a measly door code. ‘And boom,’ Sam says, looking up with a smile as the scanner in front of Helga flashes green and the door swishes back as another cheer erupts and the vice-captain steps into Level 1.

One corridor left. A corridor that was filled with extra Level 1 security personnel, who now back away to show they want no part in this, and a path opens that leads Helga to the final door – the door of Pierre Jefferson, captain of the worldship Humility.

‘Last one,’ Helga says, bringing her band up to the scanner, which flashes red as Sam types and his hacking code pops into view. A few seconds later the scanner flashes green, with a resounding gasp from everyone watching it.

‘YOU FUCKING CUNT!’ Pierre shouts as the door opens, already backing away to his sanctuary at the back. Jean at his side looking terrified, while Roger and his men take position inside the room, all of them holding voltage sticks and Taser pistols. ‘I am the captain of this ship and I am ordering you to stand down. Get more feds here. You hear me! This is treason! This is mutiny! My people will finish you all. Every last one of you.’

‘What people?’ Helga calls out. ‘What people, Pierre?’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Oh I think I do,’ Helga says. ‘Jorgey, wait here. Everyone else too. Ivan, Olga, with me please. This is between Pierre and I.’

* * *

‘What the hell is going on?’ Yasmine asks, flicking her eyes from the feed to Abdul.

‘Just hang on.’

‘For what? I just said I want to see Sam. I killed men for you, Abdul,’ she adds in an angry whisper. ‘I’ve been in the tombs and seen what they’re doing. This is dangerous, and I don’t want Sam on his own.’

‘And I just said Ferdy is keeping an on eye him.’

‘Sven’s there too, Yassy,’ Penny says.

‘I don’t give a fuck! I promised to keep him safe—’

‘He’s not a child, Yassy,’ Clara calls out.

‘And he’s not like us!’

‘Honey, you will lose him if you carry on like that. Hell, you may have already lost him,’ Clara says with a foul look.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Sam is fine,’ Penny says. ‘We just need to wait here for a minute.’

‘WHAT FOR?’ Yasmine yells, as Abdul turns on her, his face once more flashing with anger.

‘Because we need to gain a position of power to hold the thing we have. The thing you fucking stole in the first place. Otherwise they will keep coming. Get this. I need you to get this.’

‘Yassy,’ Penny says, imploring her old friend. ‘Please, just wait.’

‘Fine!’ Yasmine says, turning back with the gun still up and raised, making everyone flinch.

‘Maybe just put that down, Yassy,’ Zhang says.

‘It’s fine. It’s got a safety thing on the side,’ Yasmine says as she pulls the trigger and shoots Yuey in her unbroken leg as everyone else cries out and ducks. ‘Okay okay,’ she says, placing it on the floor as Zhang rushes over to grab it.

‘I’m fine, though!’ Sun calls out with wide eyes from the bullet missing her by an Elfor inch. ‘But thanks for asking. And er . . . what the fuck, Yassy!’

‘Yeah. What the fuck, Yassy,’ Zhang shouts, turning on her as the rest close in. ‘You had this thing the whole time?’

‘I was saving it,’ she says.

‘For what?’ Zhang shouts.

‘For that,’ she says, pointing at Dmitri.

‘I’m still fine though. Yay,’ Sun says, waving a hand as the others look over. ‘I’m Sun by the way. Yassy’s protégée and er, head of the newly formed penis department. Who knew?’

‘What the fuck?’ Penny says, making Yassy turn to face her with the odour of piss and vomit wafting over. ‘Jesus, you stink.’

‘Try being licked by them,’ Zhang says as Colin shoots him a look. ‘She licked me,’ he explains, pointing at Sun.

‘Duh. I was trying to be sexy,’ Sun says, holding her hands out with cracker caked about her mouth and blood all over her face, hair matted and stinking of piss and vomit. ‘I’m still hot though, right? And er, soz, I know you all chatted, but I was busy kicking Yuey. Why are we standing here exactly?’

‘We’re waiting,’ Yasmine says.

‘For what?’

‘For that,’ Abdul says, pointing at the feed as Helga steps through the door into Pierre’s office with Ivan and Olga.

60

The door closes behind them, sealing them in Pierre’s masculine office filled with antique gothic furniture and those paintings on the walls. The ones showing fat old white men surrounded by minions as they crow over their kills and their spoils of war.

It’s a strange moment too, as Roger glances at his men, trying to work out why Helga brought an army to the door but stepped through with only two ropey-looking Elforists who would struggle to spell the word ‘rat’ between them.

Olga and Ivan look mean, for sure. Both big and gnarly with busted noses, missing teeth and cauliflower ears and both clutching flexi-pipes held low at their sides. But there’s only two of them, and Roger and his team have Taser pistols and voltage sticks. Plus, there’s six of them. It’s a no-brainer and it makes Helga’s position suddenly look weak. Not only that, but she’s also stepped in here without Kristi Carter and her news camera. Without Jorgey or Faiza or any other credible witness.

‘What do you want, Helga?’ Pierre asks, his eyes twitching from her to the door as he reads the situation the same way and figures she’s come here to barter. Helga doesn’t reply but simply reaches back to draw a hipflask from a pocket. ‘I said what do you want, Helga? You lost the damn code! What did you think would happen?’

‘What code?’

‘Shut up, Jean!’ Pierre snaps. ‘Damn it, Helga. You’ve proved your point. You pack it in now and tell Drago to get those scum into the bowels.’

Helga still doesn’t reply but pops the top from the hip flask and takes a long drink.

‘Okay, fine! You won’t get sealed in. Is that it? You’ll be exiled. Best I can do. Go and live on the Chastity. Full pension. But Jorgey is mine, and that cunt Abdul too. They’re mine!’

Helga lowers the hip flask with a slow gasp at the burn in her throat and the fire spreading in her belly. A slow smile forming as she holds the flask out to Ivan. He looks down at it for a second before swapping hands with his flexi-pipe to take it.

‘Helga! You need to get a grip of your damned mess!’

‘Thank you,’ Helga says, taking the flask from Ivan to pass to Olga. ‘Finish it off, Olga.’

Olga takes a sip before shooting a worried look at Helga. ‘Abdul said I’m not allowed to drink whisky.’

‘Abdul said it was fine,’ Helga says.

‘What the hell are they doing?’ Roger asks, casting a look to Pierre.

‘Stalling for time!’ Pierre says, gesturing at her from behind his men. ‘She’s bitten off more than she can chew and made a damned mess of it. Am I right, Helga?’

‘No,’ Helga says, looking at the men who smashed her office up. The men who held her down and threatened her life. ‘You are not right, Pierre. But then you seldom are.’

‘Watch your damned mouth.’

‘You’re an old man who’s being used. You’re a puppet and nothing more.’

‘I said watch your damned mouth!’

‘What did they promise you?’ Helga asks, while the quiet man listens to her voice from the bugs in Pierre’s offices. ‘Did they say you could join them?’ She shakes her head while giving him a withering look of contempt.

‘What’s she on about?’ Jean asks.

‘She has no idea!’ Pierre shouts. ‘She’s plucking at straws. Winging it like she always does.’

‘You’re like the men in those paintings, Pierre. You think you have power. You don’t have power, Pierre. You never did and you never will, and whatever they promised you will not come true. You will not be a part of them. You’re too weak, too boastful. Those people aren’t. They hold power quietly and they use it. They don’t threaten, they take. And the only way to stand against people like that is to gain your own position of power. That’s what they did on Earth when wars were fought—’

‘I’ve heard enough,’ Pierre shouts, but Helga can see she’s rattled him and that galvanises her. That gives her focus to keep going while the whisky laced with Elfor Juice in her belly fuels the anger flashing in her eyes.

‘They won’t give you what they promised. You’re too weak.’

‘Do not talk to me like that!’

‘I’m not talking to you at all,’ Helga says, as the quiet man dips his head in respect. ‘And you, Jean. You’re worse than a puppet. You’re the puppet held by the puppet. I don’t even know what that’s called.’

‘ENOUGH!’ Pierre bellows. ‘Put them down. YOU PUT THEM DOWN.’

Roger surges in and presses his voltage stick into Olga’s stomach, that does nothing at all, which is physically impossible and for a second he even thinks maybe his stick is faulty, and the guard next to him jabs his in too. Which also does nothing at all, which again is physically impossible, and Olga stares down before smiling up at them.

‘That’s why she’s called Olga Two Sticks. Get ’em, Olga! Ivan, you too. Get in there.’

‘FUCK!’ Roger shouts out as Olga grips his stick to gain leverage for the headbutt that breaks his nose, while Ivan grunts from being shot by two Taser pistols and runs at the men.

What follows is a carnage that even Helga wasn’t expecting, and it appears Dorka was right. Ivan really is a nasty bastard. Especially when he lifts a sofa over his head to throw at two of the guards.

‘Zhang was meant to figure out who I should bring up with me,’ Helga shouts over the violence. ‘But Leo took him. Leo works for them too. But you wouldn’t know that, Pierre. Because you’re just a puppet. Still, I think it’s worked out okay . . . bringing Ivan and Olga, I mean,’ she adds as Olga bites a finger off and spits it in a guard’s face before smashing her pipe into his legs.

‘Enough, Helga!’ Pierre shouts, flinching from the punches and screams as his guards go down.

It took Helga a few days to figure it out. She couldn’t understand the change in Pierre. Nor could she understand why he suddenly wanted to be a captain again, or why he was coming out so vocally as anti-Elfor.

‘No . . . no . . . PLEASE, NO!’ a guard screams as Jean flinches and turns away from the sight of Ivan stamping down on a man’s head, instantly silencing the screams.

‘Are they coming to help you, Pierre?’ Helga calls.

‘Helga, this is enough now,’ Pierre says, quieter now, the shock setting in at the violence in his room as Olga slams a man down onto his desk.

‘They’re not coming, Pierre. I am, and I brought an army with me. And that is the position of power we needed to hold the thing we have, and even if I fail here and they manage to seal the Elfors, Abdul will rally every Elforist across this fleet and bring a destruction they can’t handle.’

‘I’m sorry . . . please don’t . . .’ another guard begs as Ivan grabs his head and snaps it to the side with an awful crack.

‘I couldn’t understand why you’d changed, Pierre. It didn’t make sense to me. You’re a captain. Who can influence a captain?’

She pauses to let Ivan go by, his hands on a guard’s neck while another guard rides his back, trying to choke him. A sickening crunch comes when they slam into a wall.

‘Then I connected it, with the help of Abdul anyway. While we were fucking in his office. I realised who had more influence than a captain—’

‘Helga, please!’ Roger cries out, and Helga turns to look behind at the five dead bodies and Roger, now on his knees with Ivan behind him holding a flexi-pipe across his neck. ‘Please . . .’ Roger squirms, choking from the pressure.

‘I wish I could help you, Roger. But you didn’t make the correct application for assistance . . .’

She turns away as Olga walks over with two voltage sticks that she pushes into Roger’s chest, making him convulse and spasm until his heart gives out and he slumps dead.

‘Jesus!’ Jean says, his legs suddenly weak as he staggers back into the wall.

‘Get them through,’ Helga says, strolling over to the drinks cabinet where she looks through the bottles, as Ivan and Olga start dragging the bodies across the room into Pierre’s glass-domed sanctuary. ‘Ah, there it is,’ Helga says, selecting a bottle of Irish cream liqueur. ‘Just the job. You always did like this stuff, Pierre.’

‘Okay, Helga. You’ve made your point. We can work something out. Perhaps exile is not what you had in mind.’

‘Done,’ Ivan says, breathing hard as he walks over to Helga who takes several bottles from the cabinet to hand over. Brandies. Whiskies. Tequilas and Vodkas.

‘Perhaps I will retire,’ Pierre announces quickly.

‘They won’t allow that, Pierre,’ Helga says with a sad smile, walking over with the three glasses of cream Liqueur. She motions for them to go through into the glass-domed room bolted on to the side of the ship. A place full of tropical plants and soft furniture, where Pierre grew fat and lazy staring up at the stars that never seem to move. ‘Here,’ she says, handing them each a glass. ‘Call it a peace offering.’

Jean and Pierre take the glasses with trembling hands as the sound of liquid being poured drifts over.

‘Bottoms up,’ Helga says, offering a smile before taking a big gulp. ‘Oh my, that does have a kick. Drink up, gentlemen, or I shall be very offended.’

Jean gags first, coughing as he lowers the glass while Pierre pulls a face and rubs his fingers over his teeth. ‘She’s poisoned us,’ Jean says.

‘I’ve done no such thing. We all had the same,’ Helga says.

‘What the hell was in it?’ Pierre asks, yacking his tongue out.

‘Abdul’s semen,’ she says, holding up the glass vial. ‘He’s a healthy man, that’s for sure. I’ve got some left if you want more.’

‘You fucking bitch!’ Jean shouts as Pierre turns away to heave.

‘I thought it added some oomph, personally,’ Helga says as Olga passes her a flexi-pipe.

‘Right. Now you listen to me,’ Pierre says, struggling to contain his temper. A man used to power and privilege. ‘This is enough. You’re right. The people I work for do have power—’

‘They do,’ Helga says, switching the pipe on the way Abdul showed her. Gripping it the way Abdul showed her. ‘These are amazing things. The core is an AI controlled flex driven by a current that adds force to the strike delivery. Which means it hits people harder than you can hit them.’

She pivots the way Abdul showed her and smashes the pipe into Jean’s kneecap, making him drop and scream out in pain.

‘Jesus, Helga,’ Pierre says, backing away from her. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Am I old, Pierre?’

‘Helga!’

‘You put your hands on me. You threatened me. Am I old, Pierre?’

‘Now just listen, Helga.’

‘Who caused the shuttle crash twenty-five years ago?’

‘Helga!’

‘ANSWER ME!’ She slams the pipe down onto Jean’s side as he gasps in agony.

‘They did!’ Pierre says. ‘I arranged it, but I did what they wanted. You stop this right now. These things happen, Helga. This is politics.’

‘You knew about them twenty-five years ago?’

‘No! I just knew there was something else.’

‘You’re a fool, Pierre. A damned fool, and you shouldn’t have put your hands on me.’

‘I’m sorry!’

‘We’re done,’ Ivan says.

‘Fuck your apologies,’ Helga says, turning away. ‘Power isn’t given, you fool. It’s taken.’ She marches out as Jean writhes on the floor and Pierre gasps in relief, then balks when Helga walks back in with a voltage stick in each hand. ‘Do you know what an Elfor drop is, Pierre?’

‘Helga!’ he cries out, as she brings the ends of the sticks together that crackle and sizzle with sparks flying off as she stands over the bodies on the floor. The bodies doused in liquor.

‘It’s when something is taken that doesn’t want to be given . . . So tell me now, do I look old to you, Pierre?’

‘HELGA!’ he shouts as she presses the sparking ends of the sticks into the bodies and ignites the booze. ‘HELGA!’ he cries out again as the flames grow and roar, igniting the plants soaked in alcohol. ‘Don’t . . . Helga, please . . . PLEASE!’

She steps out as the fire detection system slams the door closed to prevent spread. A system driven by an AI interface that knows every section of the ship. It knows where every door is, where every seal can be brought down. And it knows that glass-domed area is not fixed to the ship. Helga watches through the thick pane in the door as Pierre wilts back from the flames. Flames that grow to such an extent that even the sprinklers can’t deal with them and the AI blows the dome with an explosion of pressure that releases the atmosphere contained by the dome. The flames die instantly. Pierre and Jean, however, do not. Space doesn’t deliver instant death. It’s suffocation and freezing. It’s quick for sure, but not instant, and she watches as Councillor Jean Schrieber and Pierre Jefferson, the captain of the worldship Humility, spin end over end out into the void of space as the fleet flies on without them.

61

It should be over but not yet.

‘It’s done,’ Helga says into the call as she crosses the room.

‘It’s done,’ Abdul tells everyone else in the Hutongs after cutting the call to Helga. He strides off down the walkway, making another call that’s answered nearly instantly.

‘Abdul! We need to talk, my old friend,’ Leo’s voice cries out as his worried face blooms up into the feed.

‘I’ll talk, you listen,’ Abdul says, his face still glowing under the UV light as he takes a knee to grip the back of Yuey’s head for Leo to see.

‘One hair on her head, Abdul. And I swear I’ll—’

‘You tried to Elfor drop me, old friend,’ Abdul cuts in. ‘And after this, I’m coming for you. But try me now and I’ll snap her neck and bring a thousand angry Elforists into your warehouse.’

‘Uncle,’ Yuey gasps.

Leo nods as he glares into the call. ‘I promise you safe passage off this ship. But after tonight . . .’

‘After tonight it’s war,’ Abdul says, dropping Yuey and cutting the call as he walks back to the others.

‘What about her?’ Penny asks, nodding at Karen.

‘Did they give you new identities to get you off the Humility?’ Abdul asks. Karen nods, the blood still pouring from her broken nose. A tooth knocked out and her lips swollen and broken, but that Elfor defiance still shows in her eyes. ‘Then I suggest you find a new life somewhere else, because if I ever see any of you again, I will kill you. Stay off my ship.’

‘Nah, no way,’ Yasmine says. ‘That’s not enough. Who sent you?’ she asks, wrenching Karen’s head back. ‘I’ve killed about six men in the last fucking day and I will not fucking hesitate. Now who fucking sent you!’

‘Yassy!’

‘TELL ME!’

‘I was told to get Dmitri here. That’s it.’

‘Why bring Skully? Why bring Harry The Hacker and Mad Eyes? Why not just send Dmitri? You’re a fucking liar!’

‘It’s an Elfor drop. I swear it. I wanted Dmitri dead so I could take over. That’s it. They said to tell him you’d be here. They said bring him over so you or Abdul could kill him, and I get the security contract when they move Neon City . . . that’s why we sent those messages. He told us to.’

‘What messages?’

‘The messages Ossie sent. It was his idea. I didn’t want any part of it. I said it was sick.’

‘WHAT FUCKING MESSAGES!’

‘The messages he sent to Pretty Boy . . . to Sam. Telling him you all used him . . . telling him you were taking him for a ride and you still loved Dmitri. I told them to stop . . . then he sent that video . . .’

‘What video?’ Yasmine asks with a sense of dread growing in her gut. ‘What video, Karen?’

‘I said, Yassy. I said it was too much. Ossie and Dmitri. They sent Sam that video . . . the one with you and Dmitri kissing . . .’

‘Oh fuck,’ Penny says. ‘That’s why he went dark.’

‘Who?’ Yasmine asks, her mind spinning too fast to think clearly.

‘Sam. That’s why he went silent on us.’

‘You said Sam is here.’

‘He is. But not with us . . .’

‘But . . . but he called you, right? When me and Sun lost contact. He called you and . . .’

Penny shakes her head as the fear floods over Yasmine’s face, and if anything, that’s the worst thing of it all because none of them have ever seen Yasmine looking scared and lost before.

‘What did you do?’ Yasmine whispers, looking back at Karen.

‘It wasn’t me!’

‘What did I do to you, Karen? What the fuck did I ever do to you?’

‘You think you’re so fucking perfect!’ Karen screams it out, spraying them with blood. ‘Fuck you, Yassy! FUCK YOU! I sent that video and I made sure Sam knows what a using cunt you are! I got in his fucking head and I told him he’ll never be Dmitri. SO FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU . . . He ain’t never gonna trust you . . . You frigid dried-up CUNT!’ She cuts off as Sun slams a flexi-pipe into her head, and Yasmine staggers back and away, her breath coming in snatches.

‘Yassy,’ Penny says but Yasmine turns to run to get to Sam.

‘Go!’ Abdul shouts out, running after her as they all burst to action, sprinting once more through the Hutongs.

* * *

‘HELGA!’ Jorgey shouts, hammering on the door after hearing the violence inside the offices. Everyone stacked up with her. Faiza and Kristi. Dil and the others. Everyone else stretching off down the corridor as the thousands in the square watch on and the millions more across the fleet stay glued to their feeds.

Inside the offices, Helga ruffles her hair and takes some blood from Olga to smear over her own cheeks and arms, tugging her clothes about as she jumps up and down on the spot, bringing a flush to her face.

‘Remember what we said,’ Helga says, looking from Ivan to Olga. ‘They attacked us, and it all ended up in that glass room. Some bottles of alcohol got knocked over and Pierre’s men used their voltage sticks, which ignited the flames. Got it?’

Ivan nods. Olga looks at Ivan then back to Helga. ‘Can I tell Penny I had whisky?’ she asks.

‘Yes, you may,’ Helga says, still jumping up and down. ‘Right. Let’s do this . . .’ She runs across the room to strike the panel, making the door swish open as everyone outside falls to silence, all staring in at Helga, Ivan and Olga, covered in blood and breathing hard.

* * *

Yasmine reaches the stairwell and runs up into New Shanghai, thinking of Sam’s cold voice on the last contact they had. How she kept calling him to find out about the matrix, then snapping at him for talking too much. Asking him to hack doors and backfill data so they could infiltrate the hub.

She asked him something else before that, too. She asked him to rob the Finance offices so they could score big and run away to the Ab-Spa. Promises made. Promises broken.

She took him away from his life. From his cabin. From his career and friends. She lured him with promises of sex while knowing she could never do it because of the trauma inside.

The realisation prompts a great well of self-loathing that magnifies when she runs past an eatery showing Beaky dancing in the air. Sam created that. He created the Gagarin shuttle for her in the square too, trying to please her. Trying to get her attention. He created the Nazi clip and others, and everyone loves him. The whole fleet is falling in love with him, but she couldn’t give him five minutes.

She thinks back to when they were in the Six Bar and Eatery. Sam was worried about his advert. She said don’t worry and pressed the button for him. She didn’t even ask to see it, because she’s selfish and greedy.

He’s trending all over the fleet, but she never paid one jot of attention to him. She didn’t ask. She didn’t show interest. She just did what she always does and took what she wanted.

They never got any time together, either. She should have made that happen, but she ran off to find clues and be Defective Dufont, Ruiner of Lives.

She even left him behind on the Beijing and fucked off to the Ark. Wild Yassy. Crazy Yassy. Selfish, greedy, stupid, stupid Yassy. Now she runs to put that right because the voice screaming in the back of her head is telling her she just lost the best thing that ever happened to her.

* * *

‘What the hell happened?’ Jorgey asks as the fleet watches on. As the square grows quiet while Yasmine runs hard to reach the next stairwell.

‘I came in here to seek dialogue and reason,’ Helga says, lifting her chin as Yasmine staggers from the stairwell and runs into the back of the crowd. Gasping for air and trying to push through while Helga’s voice booms out from every speaker. ‘But Pierre did not want that. He had his guards with him. The same men who threatened me in my offices a few days ago when they told me to leave the ship and endorse Pierre or I would be killed.’

Gasps roll about the square as Yasmine fights through the crowd, losing her sense of direction in the darkness. Images of Sam in her mind. Of how he must feel at being told she used him. She has to reach him. She has to explain and say she has a problem. She has to just tell him why she froze up when he started touching her that day when they got to the hotel room. She has to make him see that it will be okay. They’ll go somewhere. Just them. To the Ab-Spa. They’ll run away and never look back and the tears spill from her eyes at the promises she’s already making to hide the awful flaws she has. So many of them, too. So very many.

‘I tried to reason with Pierre,’ Helga says. ‘But he attacked us. They were six of them . . . they got into Pierre’s private sanctuary where a fire broke out . . .’

Helga pauses, summoning resolve from the terrible fears and dangers as she swallows and looks at Jorgey. At Faiza. At Dil. At Kristi and at her camera. ‘The fire killed them. Pierre Jefferson is dead.’ She pauses again with that hardening showing in her eyes as she looks into the camera. ‘And I, Helga Sveinsson, as is my right in law, hereby claim the captaincy of the worldship Humility . . .’

Yasmine bursts out into the square to see Chi-Chi on her feet in the middle and Sam behind his screens at the back. Her Sam. He’s right there. She can get to him. She can tell him what happened. She can explain and make it better.

‘I name my vice-captain Abdul Shariff,’ Helga’s voice calls out. ‘And I will honour my promise. I stand with the Elfors. The Elfors will be free!’

An explosion of noise detonates in the square from people cheering with everything they have. Clapping hands and stamping feet. In Ghost Street too, where the Elforists jump up and down, grabbing each other in hugs because she’s done it. Helga has done it. She just Elfor dropped Pierre Jefferson and took the whole ship.

‘YES!’ Chi-Chi screams out, as pumped as everyone else, but suddenly being on her own in the middle of the great square isn’t right. She needs the contact everyone else is having as they cheer and hug and rejoice and so she spins about with a gasp and starts running across the square. Yasmine does it too, but staggering and slower. Her chest feels too tight. She can’t get enough air in, but she keeps her eyes on Sam. Only on Sam. Thinking only to reach him and explain. To say that it’s not true. She didn’t use him. She’d never use him.

Chi-Chi runs through her piano with sweat pouring down her face and body. Cameras tracking her motion, relaying it live on the giant screens as those cheers keep going. But Chi-Chi has to run. There’s too much passion and energy inside from their performance and what they all just went through watching Helga and the fight for the Elfors. She aims for the back. For the shadows at the side of the Great Wall. ‘Pretty Boy?’ she calls out, with a strange expression on her face as Sam appears on the giant screens, his face flushed.

Yasmine’s heart lurches at the sight of him. Her Sam. She can reach him. She can tell him what happened. She’ll explain about the crisis and tell him they’ll run and never look back. Just them. Just her and Sam and she’ll ask him about Beaky. She’ll ask him about his creations and stop being such a selfish, rotten human being.

‘Sam!’ Chi-Chi shouts as she runs through Sam’s screens and straight into him with her mouth on his. She had to do it. Chi-Chi had to express the feelings inside, and she holds Sam the way Yasmine held Dmitri in the video. Her hands on his head, pushing through his hair. Her mouth on his, kissing with a passion Sam has never felt before. Her energy pouring into him, her sweat on him. His tears on her. His arms about her body, her hands on his neck and jaw. A simple act of a boy kissing a girl but witnessed by millions, and witnessed by Yasmine who comes to a sudden stop. Covered in blood and gore. Her coveralls torn and soaked with piss and puke. Filth on her hands and face. Dmitri’s blood. Other people’s blood, too. Her hair hanging in clumps and still with bits of cracker caked over her cheeks and she watches on as her Sam kisses Chi-Chi.

It should be over, but not yet and not for Osmosis. He doesn’t smile. Nor does he feel the gushing crap everyone else is feeling, because not only does Sam Fucking Gablinski get to bang hot Elfor chicks that are not hookers, but he also gets to kiss the fleet’s hottest woman live on air.

‘Fuck you,’ he mutters and snorts powders from a vial that make him tense and gasp for a second. A rush inside. A surge of invincibility telling him he deserves what Sam is having and he types fast on his own screens to hack the square.

Sam pulls back from the kiss. Stunned that it just happened, and he doesn’t see Yasmine standing on her own with tears spilling from her eyes. With her heart breaking into a thousand pieces and an awful feeling of pain and loss in her belly.

‘Yassy!’ Penny cries out, running through the crowds with the others as they fight through Ghost Street to their unit, now packed with Elforists hugging and cheering. Abdul rushes in behind her as another huge cheer goes up. Elforists rush to shake Abdul’s hand and clap him on the back as Penny reaches Janey and Carla, Honey and Lick. ‘Where’s Yassy?’

‘FUCK YOU, PRETTY BOY!’

A huge voice roars out as every head snaps over to see a giant stick figure at the end of the square. A huge black thing with white blobs for eyes and a gaping white hole for a mouth.

‘What the fuck,’ Sam says as Chi-Chi spins round to see it.

‘Jesus,’ Penny says, edging closer to the square as the stick figure grows in height.

‘GO BACK TO YOUR AIRLOCK, PRETTY BOY!’

Sam stares up in horror, realising the other hacker must be here and he’s once again being pulled into a sordid mess of shit.

‘Shut him down,’ Chi-Chi says. ‘Sam! Shut him down!’

‘He’s here,’ Penny says. ‘Someone called Ossie is doing this,’ she shouts out to those closest. ‘Find him – he’ll be behind screens.’

Ferdy nods at Sven and those closest as they set off into the crowd.

‘He’s blocking me off,’ Sam says, trying to hack back into the square but coming against firewalls and anti-hacking codes while Osmosis laughs at his own genius.

‘DID YOU EVER KISS YASSY? DID SHE EVER FUCK YOU, PRETTY BOY? DID ABDUL CALL YOU SON? DID HE SAY WELL DONE?’ the stick figure shouts as Osmosis feels a surge of spite and remembers all the messages they sent.

Yasmine turns to look at it, realising the depths Karen went to. Realising the awful mind game they played on Sam while hating herself because it’s true. She used him. She took him from his life. She did that, and this is happening now because of her.

‘POOR ORPHAN GABLUNSKOO . . .’

‘Oh god, no,’ Sam says, closing his eyes as he finally makes the connection because only one other person ever called him Gablunskoo. He did it to everyone. He twisted names to make himself sound intellectual and smart and witty, and the greatest sadness of all comes from knowing that the one friend he thought he had is no friend at all.

Osmosis sees the look of recognition and makes the stick figure throw his head back and laugh, making the speakers distort with bass, but Osmosis always was lazy like that. He rushes things, and he has no imagination. That’s why he copied and attacked Sam’s adverts, because he couldn’t make his own.

‘Shut him down,’ Chi-Chi urges.

‘I can’t. He’s locked me out!’

‘LOOK, PRETTY BOY,’ the voice calls as Osmosis gets off on the public humiliation of Sam Fucking Gablinski. Osmosis is the funny one. The smart one. The witty one. People love him more than Sam. He’s better at hacking, too. And better at banging Elfor chicks, and he’ll have his own club soon. ‘So fuck you, Gablinski,’ he shouts out, spraying spittle from his mouth as he finds the clip he hacked from Dmitri’s wristband and rams it into the giant screens, and the sick feeling in Sam’s gut magnifies by a thousand when he sees that same video starting again.

‘Put it down. Seriously, Dmitri. We’re not filming it . . .’

‘Come on, Yassy. Just once.’

‘No!’ Yasmine on the screen laughs as she lifts up to kiss him passionately.

It’s sick and wrong but Sam can’t move, and he catches sight of the screens with that awful feeling coming back inside.

‘We’re not filming it . . .’

‘We are,’ Dmitri says.

‘Jesus, no . . . please . . .’ Yasmine says in the square. Seeing herself from years ago, and the trauma comes back. The memories surging in because she knows what happens next in that video. She knows what Sam is about to see, and she can’t do that to him. She won’t let anyone do that to him. ‘SAM!’ she cries out, sickened and repulsed as she spins around. ‘DON’T WATCH IT!’

‘What the fuck?’ Sam says, snapping his head over to see Yasmine in the square.

‘I said we’re not,’ the younger Yasmine from so many years ago says as Dmitri kisses her neck and starts pushing her top up over her belly.

‘It’s not real, Sam,’ Yasmine calls out, moving forward, shaking from head to toe. ‘It’s not what it looks like . . . turn it off!’

‘I can’t,’ Sam shouts back. ‘He’s blocked me!’

‘Then leave. LEAVE NOW! Go with Chi-Chi . . . please. Please! I’m begging you. Chi-Chi, take him away, he can’t see this . . .’

‘Turn the camera off,’ Yasmine says on the screen.

‘I said we’re filming it,’ Dmitri says.

‘I SAID NO!’ Yasmine shouts as Dmitri pins her down.

‘CHI-CHI, PLEASE!’ Yasmine shouts. ‘He rapes me. He filmed it.’

‘GET OFF ME!’ Yasmine screams out from years ago as Dmitri starts tearing at her clothes, frenzied and wild.

‘Chi-Chi! Please,’ Yasmine shouts, her hands clasped together as though begging. ‘He broke my arm and my eye socket. He broke my nose and he cut me . . . please . . . don’t let Sam see that. I’m begging you . . . I am fucking begging you.’

‘Okay,’ Chi-Chi says, nodding fast as she turns to pull Sam away. ‘We have to go . . . Sam!’ she shouts and pulls his arm as Ferdy snarls and speeds up. Ferdy doesn’t know hacking, but he does know tech and he saw the stick figure loom up. He saw the position it came from and he sets to running, barging people aside with Elfor rage flashing inside and Sven at his side.

‘SHUT THIS DOWN!’ Chi-Chi shouts as Dmitri gets more and more violent on the screen. The sound of it blasting out. The awful terrible sound of it, as Penny breaks free from the crowds in Ghost Street to see Yasmine in the square.

‘YASSY!’ she cries out, and starts running with Sun and Clara.

‘MOVE!’ Ferdy bellows, aiming for the spot he saw. Aiming for the glow of screens as Dmitri pulls his hand back, ready to deliver the blow that starts the explosion of violence that ruined Yasmine’s life, while she begs forgiveness for every bad thing she ever did and yells at Chi-Chi to get Sam away.

‘Fuck,’ Osmosis says, blanching in shock at realising what he was playing, as Dmitri’s hand pulls back while he grips Yasmine’s chin. Motion from the side. Motion from both sides. Hands on Ossie’s throat, pushing him down into the floor and as he chokes he looks up into the gnarly face of Sven Carlsson and the Elfor tattoos flashing on his arms and neck as Ferdy hits the kill switch and every screen in the square falls black.

‘Yassy!’ Penny shouts, grabbing at Yasmine as Sun and Clara reach her. ‘Sam, listen to me . . .’

‘Sweetie, you need to listen,’ Clara says.

‘She was raped,’ Sun shouts. ‘That’s why she won’t fuck you!’

‘Jesus, Sun,’ Penny says.

‘Stop fucking about and be honest with him. Sam, Yasmine was raped but she loves you.’

Sam stops. Chi-Chi too, as Osmosis is dragged through the crowd and into a walkway.

‘I’m sorry,’ Yasmine says. ‘Sam, I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I . . . I . . . I just can’t. When you touched me. I just froze up. I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.’

‘Yasmine,’ he says, with tears filling his eyes.

‘I’m sorry! I should have said but I . . . I didn’t know how. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We can fuck. We’ll do it tonight.’

‘Yassy,’ Sun says.

‘We can fuck! Anywhere you want. We’ll go in the temple or—’

‘It’s not about the fucking sex!’ he yells out. ‘I would have waited forever . . . I love you, but—’

‘I love you too!’

‘But the wrong way, Yasmine. I’m like a child to you. I’m like this thing that has to be protected. You smother me, then run off and you don’t ask what I’m doing, and you went to the Ark without me . . .’

‘I know. I’m so sorry.’

‘Telling Clara to protect me. Saying I’m not like you because I can’t fight. I ran with you through the Elfors. I went into that fight in the Ritzy Ditzy and I had the shit beaten out of me and I never said a fucking word! You don’t love me the way I love you. I don’t know what your love is. I think you’ve got this idea in your head of what you want. I don’t know . . . but I’m not your kid, Yasmine. I grew up without a mother. I don’t need one now.’

She closes her eyes at each word coming from Sam’s deeper way of thinking and seeing, and each is so true it hurts deeper than the last.

‘I’m sorry, Yasmine. I’m sorry to all of you. I helped you, but fuck me, yeah. Those messages were shit but they were true.’

‘We didn’t use you, Sam,’ Penny says. ‘We just got busy.’

‘Sweetie,’ Clara says, with tears spilling down her cheeks, ‘I’d never let nobody use you. You’re my cutey pie—’

‘Clara . . .’

‘I know it got mad crazy, sweetie. Sure, it got awful mad crazy, but we’re good now, Pretty Boy. We’ll fix this. Whatever it is. We’ll fix it, honey.’

‘Sam,’ Sun says, ‘you don’t see the way Yassy looks at you. You don’t hear what she says about you.’

‘No, Sun. I don’t hear it. I just get asked to find out about the matrix and hack doors or make café adverts and sit in the corner and be a good boy while aunty Clara watches me. But then I’m not one of you, am I? I’m not like you. That’s what you kept saying. It’s not about the sex. I’m sorry Dmitri did that to you, but I’m not that man, and I’m not a child that needs protecting either.’

‘You need to fucking listen!’ Sun says, fixing him a look.

‘No, he doesn’t,’ Chi-Chi says, stepping in front of Sam. ‘You need to damn well pay your people. Sam couldn’t afford to eat. You took him from his job and left him without food. Who does that? He spent his last credits on the ear gels so you could talk. I had to give him credits to get over here for this gig. He was on his own outside his dead parents’ cabin when I called him, without enough money to buy a coffee while he was the number one trend in every chart! And he did that for you! For free! I’d pay over a hundred thousand creds for content like that and what happened tonight on your ship is down to him. Helga didn’t rally the Elfors on her own. Sam did it. Beaky did it. Value the people in your team, or you will lose them. I need to get back. You okay, Sam?’

Sam nods as she moves in to kiss his cheek. ‘That’s for what you did for the Elfors, and the money for the gig will be paid tonight. I pay my team,’ she adds with a glare to Penny before striding off. ‘COME ON, FOLKS! IT’S NEW YEAR AND THE FLEET FLIES ON AS THE BEAT GOES ON . . .’

An instant change as ‘Whacka Whacka Dum Dum’ blasts out and the dancers stream from the Great Wall, all of them clad in saris as the bhangra version gets underway, while at the back, in a quiet dark walkway, Osmosis slams into a wall with Sven’s hands at his throat.

‘You fucked with my friend,’ Sven says, towering over Osmosis.

‘He’s one of us,’ Ferdy says, as Osmosis starts to choke and gargle. ‘You fuck with one of us, you fuck with all of us . . .’

A hand on Sven’s shoulder. Another on Ferdy’s, and the two men ease back as Carla Big Lips steps in front of Osmosis. ‘We got this.’

‘You sure?’ Ferdy asks.

‘Aw, we’re real sure,’ Honey says, moving in to lean against the wall next to Osmosis. ‘We’re gonna have us a good time.’

‘Hey, baby,’ Lick Lick says, moving into the other side. ‘Love that hair.’ she adds, reaching up to smooth his wild locks down.

‘Fair enough,’ Sven says, before snapping a hand out to punch Osmosis in the face, breaking his nose. ‘That’s for Sam, you fucking cunt. I see you again I’ll make you into porridge.’

‘And remember, girls,’ Ferdy says as he walks off. ‘There’s no limits here . . . you do whatever you want.’

‘Now, ladies,’ Osmosis says behind his hand as his mouth fills with the blood streaming from his nose. ‘I’m sure we can reach a mutually agreeable solution to this present crisis . . .’

‘Sure we can, sweetie,’ Carla says, as she brings up a short-stem voltage stick. ‘Let’s see just how deep our agreeable solution will go . . .’

62

It should be over. It almost is. But not yet, not quite, and Abdul waits for the call.

Helga waits too, in Pierre’s office as the people rejoice and hug and clasp hands. A bottle of real Earth whisky taken from the cabinet and passed around, from Dil The Cleaner to Mild Marko. From Robby The Blind to Willy The Rake. From Janey Dead Leg to Dorka, and on it goes like a reward earned. Like a rite of passage for those who held the line and fought back. For those who stood alongside Helga and won this day. All of them cut and hurt, bleeding and bathed in sweat. Each takes a swig and passes it on until it reaches Faiza who tilts her head back, feeling the burn as it slides down her throat and into her stomach.

‘Chief,’ she says, holding it out to Jorgey.

Jorgey takes her turn, upending the bottle while those about her cheer at the sight. ‘You did well for a stair guard. Ever thought about being a cop?’

‘I can’t, I’m an Elfor,’ Faiza says, lifting her arm to show the ink from the UV lights still shining from open feeds.

‘We’ll fix that,’ Jorgey says, winking at her as she turns around to walk over to Helga. ‘Captain?’

Helga smiles as she takes the bottle. ‘To the Humility!’ Helga calls, holding the bottle up to a loud cheer as she takes her swig.

‘You did it, Helga,’ Jorgey says quietly.

‘No, Jorgey. We did it.’

‘Sure, but fuck me, that was bold. Are you sure you’re not an Elfor?’

‘Maybe I am,’ Helga says, winking at her while she waits for the call. The call she knows must be coming. ‘I need to get something from my office, hold the fort, please.’

‘Of course, Captain,’ Jorgey says, watching with a wry smile as Ivan and Olga go with her. No orders. No requests. Just simply following behind, as Jorgey figures they always will from now on. She wonders what happened in this room, and if she had to guess she’d probably get it right. The bloodied drag marks across the floor certainly don’t help.

It needs a good clean, that’s for sure. ‘Dil,’ she calls, and he turns to smile at her. She nods at the marks. He nods back and claps a hand on Marko’s back.

‘Get the buckets, Marko. We’ll need a quick mop up.’

On the Beijing, Abdul takes the handshakes and backslaps with good grace. Remembering names from years gone by and taking drinks with old friends, while constantly glancing at his band. Waiting for the call.

‘Hey,’ Penny says, making him turn to see them all traipsing back into their area. Clara with red eyes. Sun looking exhausted. Yasmine too, like she’s ready to drop. Her eyes cast down, head lowered. ‘You good?’ Penny asks.

Abdul nods and throws the question back without needing to speak. Penny just shrugs. ‘We’ll fix it,’ Abdul says. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.’

‘You can’t fix everything, Abdul,’ Yasmine says.

‘I fixed this, didn’t I?’ he asks, giving her a hard look as she replies in kind. Both dark, and both so full of righteous rage. ‘And you,’ he says, wrapping an arm about Sam’s shoulders to kiss the side of his head. ‘Look at me, Sam.’

Sam looks up, it’s impossible not to, and he takes in the tattoos on Abdul’s face and skull and that dark gleam in Abdul’s eyes. ‘I’m not your father, but if I was, I would be proud of you. What they said to you was just mind games. Forget it and move on. Do you understand?’

Sam nods. Feeling that thing again. That surge of something inside from the contact and the words.

‘You’re my family now and I look after my family. Whether you’re with Yassy or not. You’re one of us, son.’

‘Come here, you!’ Sven says, pushing in to grab Sam, pulling him to kiss his head and hug him while patting his back. ‘Well done, Sam. Damn, that was genius.’

The rest surge in to engulf Sam with hands on his back and shoulders. People he’s never met. Elfors with stick figure ink shaking his hand.

‘PRETTY BOY!’ Ferdy yells out, as he produces a bottle of Elfor Juice, twists the top and passes it to Sam. ‘You first, Sam . . . go on! Get it down.’

He takes a hit as the cheer goes up and he feels that spreading warmth radiating out. That buzz inside as hands move across his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to see three beautiful women smiling at him as Honey takes the bottle to swig.

‘We sorted the other hacker out,’ Lick Lick says, winking at Sam.

‘Trust me, that boy won’t be sitting down for a very long time,’ Honey adds.

‘I told you, sweetie,’ Clara says, wrapping her arms about him as she plants more kisses on his cheek. ‘You’re my cutey pie, and that ain’t said cos you’re a child. No, sir! You’re a man, Pretty Boy! Damn fine man. And you stick with us. We’re family is what we are. Come on now, show me that smile. Ah, there it is. Heck, we watched Linda Lickup together. I haven’t even done that with my Boris.’

Sam smiles again, the Elfor Juice in his belly helping to ease the strain as the handshakes and kisses keep coming. And Abdul was right. This is family. This is what he saw in the Elfors. This is the thing Beaky danced for. This connection, this world of colour and noise that isn’t like the world he comes from. It’s not sterile or bland, and it’s not samey either. It’s fucking frightening is what it is. Terrifying, even. Murders and death and gangs and violence, but within that there’s passion and meaning, and Sam realises there’s more life in an Elfor inch than in the rest of the fleet put together.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Penny says, taking her turn to hug him. ‘Blame me for this, Sam. I just couldn’t cope with it all. The business and the politics . . .’

‘It’s okay, Pen. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ she says, kissing his cheek. ‘We’re family, Sam. And I’ll get Janey to deal with the wages from now on too.’

‘It wasn’t about the credits, Penny.’

‘I know. It was about all of it. But we’re back together. That’s what matters – and we did it! You did it. Helga won and Abdul’s the new VC!’ She throws her arms around him as he laughs. ‘ABDUL IS THE NEW VC!’ she shouts out as the next cheer goes up, while Abdul waits for the call and Yasmine and Sam stand a few feet apart. She glances over at him, her arms folded across her chest. Cracker caked over her cheeks and she stinks something rotten, he can smell it from here. She’s covered in blood, too. And grime and grease and filth. ‘I know, right,’ she says. ‘Bit underdressed for the occasion.’

He nods while feeling that thing inside that comes whenever he looks at her. And even now she’s still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Breathtaking, even. He’d take her in his arms and kiss her if she didn’t stink of piss. ‘You okay, then?’ he asks instead.

She nods, then shrugs. ‘Yeah. Dmitri is dead.’

‘Wow. Really? How?’

‘With the gun I took from Martins.’

‘From Martins?’

‘Yeah, we shot him, too. But he killed Milo, so . . .’

‘Sure. Poor Milo.’

‘Nah, Milo was a puta.’

‘Oh, well fuck him then.’

‘Definitely. Fuck Milo,’ she says as they stare at each other. As the tiniest hint of a smile forms.

‘Hey, guess what!’ Sun says, bursting into the conversation. ‘I just told Abdul he’s a prick for neglecting his business and what are we supposed to do now after I broke Yuey’s leg, then you shot her.’

‘You shot Yuey too?’ Sam asks.

‘Er, it’s more like who we didn’t shoot,’ Sun says. ‘But Yuey was an accident. Being shot that is. Not the broken leg. But! That’s not the cool thing. The cool thing is Abdul’s paying for me and mom to go back with him! Boom! I’m coming home with you to the Humility.’

Yasmine smiles at the way she says it. At the words she used. Home to the Humility. A ship she only ever wanted to leave, but right now she can’t wait to get back there and she looks at Sam as they share a gentle smile and the fleet flies on as the UV light shines down on the stick figure tattoos glowing outside the unit on Ghost Street.

* * *

Helga reaches her office and heads inside to stand in silence. Hardly believing that it all worked. That she took the ship. A moment later, the call comes in, the one she was expecting. She couldn’t understand the change in Pierre or what could be more powerful than a captain. Then he said about the shuttle crash and she realised he would never have done that himself. Doing something like that takes power. Real power. The kind of power that used to rule on Earth.

She checks the ID, seeing it’s unknown, and quickly calls Abdul as he slips away to stand on his own and nods to show he is ready.

She swipes to answer. Audio only. No video.

‘Good evening, Captain Sveinsson,’ the softly spoken voice says as the quiet man speaks into the call. ‘And you too, Vice-Captain Shariff.’

Helga lifts an eyebrow as Abdul frowns as they wonder how he knew they were both on the call.

‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ the quiet man asks.

‘Who are you?’ Helga asks.

‘Good question. Let me just say I represent—’

‘No,’ she cuts him off. ‘Who are you? What is your name?’

‘Oh, how nice. That does make a pleasant change. My name is Hector, and I would assume, from your conversation with Pierre, that you have deduced who we are. But in case of any doubt, I represent The Six. Those being the same Six that ran the Earth and who now control the fleet and everything in it. The Six decide the captains and The Six decide if the Elfors should be free or not. And let’s just say, you have gained their full attention. So, on behalf of The Six, congratulations on your success. The Humility is yours, and I for one shall certainly raise a glass in honour of your achievement. That said, I’ll leave you to your rejoicing and wish you both a pleasant evening, and when the time is right we shall discuss the return of our code. Captain Sveinsson. Vice-Captain Shariff. Outstanding work.’

* * *

The universe is filled with energy. From microscopic particles to more complex biological structures, coexisting within ecosystems upon planets caught in the gravitational orbits of burning suns alongside billions of other star systems, all within galaxies swirling towards the pull of supermassive black holes.

Which means that neither the universe, nor anything within it, is ever still. Space might appear empty and silent, but it’s not.

Neither is it empty and silent in two other places.

A toilet in the back of the unit on Ghost Street where the Elforists gather to dance and party with Vice-Captain Abdul Shariff.

Another toilet in Pierre Jefferson’s former offices. A place now filled with those who stood with Captain Sveinsson, as they also drink and rejoice.

Zhang Woo in one, Kristi Carter in the other – and what happens next should be sleazy and sordid, and in a way, it is, but it adds to the vibe of whatever this is. Their feeds detached as they stand facing each other. Their eyes poring over the other as their holo- hands reach into the other’s world as though to touch something that just isn’t there.

She orgasms first, convulsing and shuddering in a way that makes him follow suit a few seconds later, both of them grunting and flushing red-faced until the groans grow longer and softer. Until their legs get a bit rubbery. Until they focus back on what they just did. Both suddenly sheepish. Both suddenly shy, and both suddenly grinning like idiots as the fleet flies on.

Table of Contents

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