First Person (4 page)

George
opened his palms to me. “Are we thirsty enough for that?”

Iris
sighed. “We’ll never get the seasons back. It’s wishful thinking.”

Across
at the botanists’ table, one of them gently shook the pot and fern leaves fell
onto the table without any grace. They all laughed, brushing the plant pot to
the side of the table. Their casualness towards the plant appalled me. All I
had to do was step outside and find a million others like it, but that they’d
brought this one inside, killed it, and then found it amusing, demonstrated how
little regard they had for the whole planet. I thought it was a good thing to
have seen with my own eyes, leaves falling from a plant.

Once
the botanists left for the evening, I rescued the plant from removal by the
cleaning team and brought it back to my pod. In the shower room, I set it down
in the cubical and just turned the water on. After a little while I found a temperature
I thought it might like and left it there while I made up my bed with fresh
sheets. I had a look at it once more before shutting off the light and closing
the door.

I
lay down in a cool bed, imagining it was dry leaves, and listened to the white
sound of water pouring into the shower. I thought of a bright forest tunnel,
with darkness at either end, entrance and exit unknown whilst the interior
brims over with light. Vivid colours filled my head; reds, browns, yellows. As
I breathed out, my eyes got heavy and I sunk into the pillow. From long ago, I
can still smell a hollowed-out turnip, eyes and mouth cut out, and a candle
placed inside to make a lantern. Its warmth filled the air back then and its
memory helps me slip into sleep.

Autumn
once again surrounds me. My hands are open and leaves flutter through my
fingers. And I fall and fall and fall.

To:
Elizabeth

From:
Daniel

Sent:
Wednesday 27 April 2074

Subject:
The Spark

Attachment:
Manifesto.pdf

Hi
Elza

Did
you see it, I wonder? It would have been like a new star, rivalling Venus at
sunset. Only it would have been briefer and lasted only as long as the fuel
took to burn. I know it would have been seen from Earth, we planned it that
way, and it was calculated that Europe was facing us at the time. I’m sorry,
Elza. You’ll be reading this when I am dead. But please know this: I leave with
my head held high. I’m proud of what I’m about to achieve today. I write to you
just before I leave to do it.

The
work was pretty much as I expected. The journey less so. This vessel is like a
comfortable hotel, or a cruise ship. Only, instead of being on the ocean, we’re
travelling across space. The elevator from Sri Lanka to the departure platform
was actually the best part. It was just like we saw on TV. Whisked up into the
sky, leaving your stomach behind, you get a good look as the ground gets
smaller and the horizon curves until it becomes the whole world. Seeing Earth
from this high up was pretty breathtaking. We moved from pressurised room to
pressurised room. Back in Baikinour we’d had the spacesuit training but there
was no need for it on the platform. It was just like the departure lounge at St
Pancras. Whilst we waited, you sort of forgot you were standing on a tin can
perched on top of a massive cable which led back down to Earth. The engineering
know-how of these aliens is extraordinary. Of course, that’s part of the
problem.

We
were strapped in for the initial acceleration but really you don’t even feel
it. You get pushed back in the chair a bit, like that time on the train to
Paris after I got laid-off. But that was it really. It only takes three days
out and three days back, with the tour in between. I reckon they could do it
quicker. I mean, they made it through so-called interstellar space. Surely if
it takes three days to reach the asteroid belt then it would take hundreds of
years to reach Earth.

This
is the whole point of what I’m saying about these creatures. Apart from some
flickering pictures of them when they arrived we don’t hear from them let alone
see them. All we’ve got are ‘assurances’ from New York that they mean us no
harm. But I was right there when Dale was literally wiped away by that buckling
crane. It could have been me. And Dale wasn’t even the first. What is the point
of what we’re doing out here? All we get are some lousy jobs, an elevator in
Sri Lanka, some upgrades on our phones, and that fucking spaceship you can see
in the sky even during the day. It’s not even like seeing the moon during the
day. Not even a little bit.

They
try and make out it’s like Hollywood always warned us, but better! As if an
alien race parking their ship above our planet was a good thing. Just because
they need human workers to assist them, doesn’t mean they aren’t here to just
take what they want. They want to strip mine our solar system until there is
nothing left for us. And it’s us doing the digging. That’s what we’re doing out
here. There’s stuff out here you wouldn’t believe. The asteroid belt was formed
at the same time as our own planet but unlike the Earth, the rocks never held
together to form a planet. It’s just this massive jumble of rocks which float
around our sun like Saturn has her rings. Every mineral we’re running out of on
Earth is here – nickel, copper, gold even. You name it, it’s here. That’s what
we’re digging out of the asteroids. And their fuel of course.

Because
that’s what we’re really here for, their fuel. They’ve crossed light years and
basically just need a refill. What do you think will happen when they’ve filled
their tank? They’ll clear off out of it and leave us with a creaky old elevator
to space that’s not any use anymore. The next solar system will even get the
jobs.

I’m
typing this up in my bunk of the cabin I shared with Dale. Apparently they
upload the internet (!) and download what we send, every hour, even out here.
How is that even possible? Well, it lets me send you this anyway. I thought I’d
be on my own but this guy Rahjeev is rotating back early so caught the
transport. He’s good company, better than Dale if I’m being honest. He likes my
tea. Unlike you! Rahjeev’s the sort of guy who thinks this whole thing is great
for us. His old man worked on the later stages of the Mangalyaan – remember the
first Indian mission to Mars? Well, Rahjeev is out here because he’s a
thermodynamics specialist. According to him, the Mangalyaan gave a generation
of Indians the training, experience, and motivation to seize an opportunity
like this. He’s grateful for Christ’s sake. Me? I’m here for the money as you
know.

I
finally decided not to be grateful, for either the job or the money, when Dale
got killed. It was a stupid wasteful accident. We were on the rock, not one of
the big ones you can find online, one of the smaller ones we extract their fuel
from. In full spacesuits we stood on the surface. Dale pointed to this biggish
looking star which is our Sun and claimed he could make out the Earth. His
voice came through the comm, a narrow sound like he was on the phone. “Wave
Daniel. Elza can see you.” I laughed at him. Behind him the crane swung out of
the light for a second. Then it came tumbling down. I can still see his smiling
face through the visor, his hand waving as the crane’s metal arm swept silently
in front of me and then Dale was gone. There wasn’t even a crackle on the comm.

It
took me a moment to realise what had happened. Saliva flecked the inside of my
visor when I called out his name. Whilst I waited on the shuttle I saw again
that biggish looking star and thought for a moment I really could see the
Earth. Far to my left another two-man crew grappled with a drill bit,
completely unaware of what happened to their colleague. Behind me, and unseen
on the other side of this asteroid, sat the alien transport ship. Inside it’s
tumbler like shape sits one of them. The human crew are only the chefs and the
cleaners and the grunts like me. But the pilot is one of
them
; the Xalq.
I won’t call them Residents as you know. I’ll only call them aliens. Or worse!

Elza,
we’re risking our lives out here for these visitors who just want our cheap
labour to do their dirty work. Here is what we know. They arrived twenty-five
years ago. One day there were no aliens, the next there was a giant cylinder in
the sky. I can’t even remember when they weren’t here. All we’ve seen of them
is when they arrived in New York and the UN gave them the keys to our planet.
There were three of them. Telling us they were few, they offered us the chance to
go to the stars because they needed our help. They would open the Solar System
up to us if we assisted them in gathering their fuel. All those years of
probes, moon-shots, and rovers on Mars a total waste. We should have waited
until they arrived and spent NASA’s money on donuts. Since then, we’ve seen
nothing. We only hear about them via that creep Mikkelsen.

Here
are the three conclusions I’ve made. You can read more about them in my
Manifesto which is attached.

• There
  are only three of them. Despite the size of their ship – and it’s massive,
  I saw it from the departure platform – there are only three of them
  
• This
  is our asteroid belt. It’s our Solar System. They came from outside our
  Solar System. This asteroid belt, and all its resources are ours – it belongs
  to humans
  
• It’s
  time for them to leave. We need to hit them hard and make it less
  prosperous for them. They’ve got enough from our little arrangement and
  it’s time for them to move on
  

Which
leads me onto my final act. It won’t be difficult. The hardest thing will be
getting into the cargo area where those precious minerals and all their fuel
is. However, I’m on duty there in half an hour. I’m supposed to be there. I’m
expected. Passing security will be what they expect me to do.

The
group I’m involved with have shown me what to do and where to do it. In the end
it will be easy. All I have to do is push a button.

My
worst fear is that people think it’s another awful accident, like what happened
to Dale. His death was pointless, whereas mine will mean something. I hope
people will see it as a kind act, one which sets us free. I’m not supposed to
be telling you about this. The group I’m with have their own agenda but I have
mine. Please see to it that the press receive my Manifesto – it’s attached at the
top. You can decide whether or not they should see this message.

Finally,
Elza – please know that I love you and that I want you to be happy. Go on
without me. Gather up our life together and place it in a box where you can
look at it from time to time. Carry it to different places, but go to those
places. Leave the memory of me behind so you can build a new life.  If I’m
lucky you’ll be looking up to the early morning sky right now as I type. This
ship won’t be visible to the naked eye at first. But it will once I’ve pushed
the button. No amount of advanced alien technology will be able to stop the
cascade of reactions and this ship will shine like a new star in the sky before
fading away. Then we’ll see a spark which lights up the whole solar system and
they’ll remember it was me who did it.

Goodbye
my love

Daniel

H
appy 18
^th
Birthday
.

I
looked at the banner strung across an archway garlanded with flowers. We’ll see
how this wish works out, I thought. Early morning party planners buzzed about
in the sunshine. Catering was provided by Davis Bros and music by ‘DJs to the
Stars’. My moment came when an unmarked panel truck pulled up along the east
facing side of the marquee, the side with no doors, just the plain off-white
canvas. A number of hands clustered around the back of the truck, primed for
its arrival. I threw my jacket into the back of my car and shimmied up next to
them, eager to see what was inside. It was the cake.

I
smoothed down my black apron and adjusted my white blouse when one of the men
there looked me up and down. He looked away, embarrassed at being noticed
ogling one of the waitresses. Unthinking, he smoothed down his own black apron,
and looked back inside the truck. Fondant modelled into a monstrously large
pool table, complete with balls and cues, was being pushed forward. The bakers
inside shooed the waiting staff away, telling us they could manage themselves.
Another chance. As a few of the staff melted away to continue their duties I
followed a few of them inside the marquee.

Grabbing
a handful of the cutlery like a few of the other girls, I followed them round
the tables, setting up the dining in the same way. Posing as one of the waiting
staff, I tried to blend in. Always alert, I just needed to see around, get a feel
for the place. Covered in fine linen, circular tables covered the most part of
this massive marquee. At the far end, a small dance floor had been laid on the
ground and beyond that was the sound system; no band, but a DJ, still setting
up his gear. Andy was helping the guy, shooting the breeze with the DJ, and
dressed in a nice suit and tie, like some Uncle arrived early to hang out with
the musician. We never made eye contact.

A
couple of hours passed and eventually we were sent on a short break. The birthday
boy would be there soon. We would let him enjoy his day. We’re not heartless.
Andy had to say goodbye to the DJ as the room emptied and I caught sight of him
heading to the restrooms. I followed the pack for a lukewarm coffee and a limp
sandwich. As we left the marquee to go out back, a few bodies were clustered
around the pool table cake. Amongst them was a tall young man with wavy blond
hair and a goofy smile. It was him but I didn’t want him to see me yet. I kept
out of sight. And I did so want him to see me.

Whilst
these rich entitled assholes enjoyed their after-dinner coffee, I looked over
at the Birthday Boy. We’d had speeches about going off into the adult world and
some amusing stories of his childhood. It was like they were marrying him to
adulthood in this flowery temple. He crumpled at the stories, laughing along,
old before his time, which of course was why Andy and I were there. He still
wore braces on green teeth. When I turned eighteen, it was tequila and boys,
and scared stiff we wouldn’t get back across the border the next morning. DJ to
the Stars played some mellow tunes and nodded his gold-framed dark glasses.

One
of the waitresses grabbed another pot of coffee. Helen her name was and she had
told me she was dying for a smoke. I winked and took the pot off her. She
smiled gratefully and snuck out the back while I made straight for the head
table. Birthday Boy was leaning in towards a sweet young thing. I was this
young once, but nowhere near as sweet. In a bouncy taffeta dress, she looked
pretty. I poured a couple of coffees until I got right behind the pair of them.
Both were unaware I was there. I leaned over and whispered in both their ears.
“I doubt you’ll get laid tonight.”

She
barely heard me and her face screwed up into a ‘what did you say?’ expression.
Birthday Boy twisted round in his chair, ready to give me a piece of his mind,
but it was then that he saw me. I could have been any waitress; black skirt
over black stockings, sensible shoes and nice white blouse, hair done up, a
little bedraggled from working this gig. But I’m not just anybody, and in that
moment he knew it and his face froze. His cheeks had pulled his mouth open to
put me in my place but no words came out. Shock will do that to the guys we
hunt.

I
smiled, coffee pot at the ready. “Hey Tomas. Had a nice life?”

“Thomas?”
The girl mispronounced his name slightly, confused at what she just heard. Of
course, she knew him as Daryl.

The
boy’s father sat a few chairs down. He looked at us, his brow furrowed. It was
time for me to leave Tomas to it before I drew attention to myself. “Enjoy the
party,” I said, even meaning it.

Tomas,
or Daryl as he was known, leaned forward in his chair. I kept an eye on him as
I ducked back to the catering area. He looked around, his shoulders miserably
hunched over. The sweet young thing was confused but she placed a gentle hand
on his arm. Tomas looked around. The father had turned his attention to an
older couple who had appeared at his side. Tomas pulled a linen napkin off his
knee and slipped out of his chair, leaving his girlfriend behind. His eyes were
on the floor as he skulked away. The girlfriend watched him go, saying nothing.

I
saw all this through a gap in the curtain which separated us servers from the
guests. A feet away my boss clicked his fingers at me, impatient. I snorted and
told him where to go. Then I went after Tomas.

Andy
was already on him. Tomas, in his rented tux and shiny shoes, was running for
it. I hadn’t hung around inside and after blowing my cover as a waitress all I
saw was the back of Andy running into a side alley. I stayed on the street.
Having lost the apron, I made for the sidewalk and hit it. I barely breathed as
I ran by an old warehouse, now fancy apartments. This whole area had been
reclaimed by the new gentry and I just ran right through their new
neighbourhood in pursuit of one of their sons. Weaving in and out the few
people around that afternoon, I cornered the block only to see Tomas barrel out
the alleyway with Andy in pursuit.

Tomas
yelled out randomly, “Help! Help me!”

I
saw a middle-aged woman with a poodle on a leash lift her phone up to dial as
she watched the seemingly young man pursued by someone older. As I reached her,
I tapped her shoulder to distract her intention. “Police pursuit, ma’am,” I
said to her in a stern voice. She dropped the phone to her side and she smiled
briefly at me. I took this all in an instant, never breaking stride. I must
have looked like a cop, like Andy always says I do.

Up
ahead, Tomas ran into another building. A rookie mistake, even from him. Andy
rammed his broader body through the narrow doorway and a moment later I was
inside too. The place was an empty building site. Pocked sheets of plastic
drifted where walls should be and I ran across smooth concrete floors to the
back of the building. On his back, Tomas writhed on the floor, his tux jacket
all dusty. He must have been decked by Andy or even tripped in his stupid new
shoes. He was breathing hard and I saw him for what he was now; a pasty kid who
never picked up a paper route let alone a football. He was breathing heavily,
terrified. His hands were in the air as Andy quietly menaced him; not even out
of breath.

As
I came up on the two of them, I made a point of not looking behind me. I looked
down at Tomas. “You should be afraid you little shit. Why did you run?”

“Are
you fucking kidding me?” he roared. The gawky teenager was momentarily gone to
be replaced by the Tomas we knew and remembered.

I
looked at Andy. He just sort of shrugged with his mouth before asking, “Are you
kidding him?”

Staring
Andy down like I really meant it. “I’m deadly serious.”

He
knew what I meant. Andy reached inside his coat and pulled out the Bolt; a
small graphite arrow, no bigger than a pencil, with a deadly bronze tip. I took
it off him and crouched down beside Tomas, who was still squirming on the
floor. His eyes were all red and puffy and I could see the mark on his jaw
where Andy must have hit him. I held up the Bolt and Tomas flinched. “Yeah, you
know what this is,” I told him. He had seen one twice before and now he was
getting it again.

Tomas
became still. He looked me right in the eye, cool and relaxed. “I’ll see you
again.”

Andy
snorted. He already had the pistol crossbow wound up. I took it off him and
placed the bolt in its workings. Andy hunkered down to grip Tomas by the
shoulders. Tomas just looked at me and sneered, “I’ve seen you twice already.”

Andy
chortled. “Don’t you know there’s a new rule in town?”

Tomas
tried to screw his head around to look at Andy, wondering what he meant. By way
of explanation, Andy said. “Three strikes, buddy.”

I
held the crossbow under Tomas’ neck; its pistol grip moulded for my hand. He
froze but his eyes met mine. I whispered, “Straight to hell.” I pulled the
trigger and Tomas went limp.

It
was late at night as I climbed the fire escape. Darkness brought on cooler air
and I followed it inside through an open window. A two-room apartment, this
room I’d just stepped into was a crèche.  Pink linen, suspended from the
ceiling, spread out in an inverted ‘V’ over an empty crib. Freshly laundered
bedding reminded me of my own childhood in a room not unlike this one. Well,
this childhood. Previous ones had been a little different. I padded to the open
doorway. Staying concealed from the hallway beyond, I tucked in behind the door
and looked through the crack.

A
TV gibbered away in another room, some cat up a tree crap. And a shadow moved
about, a man, and a baby cooed and giggled. I heard splashing; bath-time.
Behind the door, a comfortable chair had been pushed into the corner. I quickly
moved a stack of diapers and placed them carefully on the floor without making
a sound. I sat down and waited.

After
a while, the TV was switched off and there was some more moving about.
Eventually, all bundled up and sleeping, the baby I had heard came into the
room, carried by the man we were after; Martin. With his whole attention on the
child, he bounced her gently in his arms before laying her lovingly in the
crib. His sleeves were rolled up from having bathed her. Martin leaned in and
petted her head. He never looked over his shoulder to the corner once. I sat
there waiting. Martin’s doorbell rang. He moved his head slightly, but kept his
attention on the kid.

When
he ignored the bell a second time, I said, “You better get that Martin.”

He
froze. The doorbell rang a third time and he finally turned round, though
slowly, keeping a protective hand on the side of the crib. He caught sight of
the open window and I could see his lips move, cursing himself. I recognised
the shape of the German words. He was afraid when he finally saw me and made no
move when my partner Andy let himself in the front door.

“You
make me pick this lock, Martin?” Andy huffed as he found us, his voice loud,
pissed off.

“You’ll
wake the baby,” I said and stood up and crossed to the open window. A small
breeze hit my back as I leaned on the sill.

“Shit,
a baby?” Andy directed this to Martin.

“She’s
my wife.” Martin said it as if we should know.

Andy
and I looked at each other. “Sick f-,” Andy said. He let the letter just hang
in the air like he was going to say the whole word but was stopping himself.

“It’s
Magda?” My question was to Andy, who shrugged, and then I looked at Martin
without concealing my open-mouthed amazement.

“She
made it,” Martin said. He sounded proud. He stood there, barely fitting his
grey pants and cardigan, his hair thinning and white above the ears. And he
sounded proud, like he was telling us this to make us like him, like we would
be pleased for him. As if it was some kind of achievement to cheat death, miss
a few steps, and get ahead of the line.

The
moment stretched out for a while until Andy laughed. “This shit is fucked up,
Martin. Are you out of your mind?”

“You
can’t bring her here,” I added. I could not believe what he had done, what he
and Magda had risked. Leaving aside how plain odd this was, how inappropriate,
that his wife was now a baby, it was impossible to comprehend how Martin ever
thought he was going to make it work.

He
sort of smiled at me. One side of his mouth curled and an eyebrow was raised
slightly. “I was a child when I arrived in this time.”

“Did
you read my mind, Martin?” I asked him. He shrugged slightly, to indicate he
had, and that his answer somehow proved it. He kept his position, a hand
resting on the crib. He was calculating, though. It was in his eyes as he
looked from the door, covered by Andy, and the window covered by me. I tried to
see if there was another hidden exit. They always run.

Andy
was next to speak. He took a big breath in before saying, “We saw Tomas today,
posing as a dude called Daryl.”

Martin
swallowed. The Adam’s Apple on his scrawny neck bobbed. He wanted to know the
outcome of our encounter with Tomas but he dared not ask. Maybe he thought we
hadn’t Bolted him, or he thought we were bluffing, that we were waiting to see
if he knew where Tomas was. When Martin looked to me, I gave a tiny shake of my
head.
Tomas didn’t make it
.