wrong thing while trying to do the right thing. But she wasn’t alone. Something was standing at her back. When she twisted around to look at it there wasn’t anything there, of course. Only darkness. But she could feel it.
At last the light came back on, sudden and stark in the white room, and the door slid back and the two PSCs stepped in and told Ori to come with them.
They rode down in a big, slow elevator, the kind used to move machines around. Ori wondered if she was being taken to the end cap. Wondered if the True had lied to her; wondered if she was going to be given the long drop. The elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal a hangar space and a small crowd of Quicks inside a rectangle marked with yellow paint on the floor. The PSCs marched Ori across the space, shoved her across the yellow line, told her to find a spot and wait her turn.
All of the Quicks waiting there had been touched by sprites during the quake. Ori told her story, heard the stories of others. One had been riding a bot that had fallen from the Whale’s skin during the quake – had fallen a long, long way with a sprite wrapped around it. Two others had been confronted by sprites while riding machines in a garage. Two more had been visited while they rode bots hunkered down in a vacuum-organism farm. And so on, and so on. All retained to some degree or other the impression that the sprites they’d encountered were with them still. All were haunted by ghosts in their heads.
One by one they were taken away for medical examination. Most returned; a few didn’t. It wasn’t clear if those who had returned had passed or failed the tests. It took a long time to process everyone. PSC guards tossed food packs and water bottles into the rectangle every six hours. Everyone had to share two portable shitteries. There was nowhere to sit or sleep but the floor. Not one dared to step across the yellow lines that enclosed them. It was unthinkable to leave without permission.
At last, Ori was called forward and escorted to the examination area, a space at the far end behind portable screens. She was told to take off her clothes and she was prodded and scanned from scalp to toes by a small team of medics, passed from one to the next like a piece of meat. When the last was finished with her, she was allowed to dress, and escorted back to the rectangle.
She was one of the last to be examined. The medics packed up and left; the lights dimmed, and most of the Quicks inside the rectangle tried to get some sleep. Ori sat cross-legged, eyes closed, trying to communicate with the presence inside her head. Asking it what it was, what it wanted. Trying to move the centre of her attention to the warm dark at the back of her head where it lived. She jerked awake when the lights in the hangar snapped on. The guards were shouting, telling everyone to wake up.
‘Stand up and get into formation! Five lines, right now!’
‘Face forward, backs straight!’
‘Get ready to meet the commissar!’
‘Commissar Doctor Pentangel on deck!’
Ori stood amongst the others, standing in the middle of the second rank, her heart beating quickly and lightly. The guards snapped to attention as troopers moved across the open space ahead of the tallest True that Ori had ever seen. Very tall and very pale, with a shock of black hair and a beard like an inverted triangle. He wore a long white coat that hung open at the front, showing glimpses of the girdle and arm- and leg-clamps of his exoskeleton as he tick-tocked towards the Quicks standing in orderly rows inside the yellow rectangle painted on the floor.
He looked at them for a long time, his sharp gaze sweeping back and forth. Smiling at last, saying, ‘My children.’
7
The Child lay on her bed, staring up at but not seeing the stars that floated above her in the darkness, listening to the voices of her mother and Vidal Francisca rise and fall in the living room of the bungalow. It was after midnight. They
At last the light came back on, sudden and stark in the white room, and the door slid back and the two PSCs stepped in and told Ori to come with them.
They rode down in a big, slow elevator, the kind used to move machines around. Ori wondered if she was being taken to the end cap. Wondered if the True had lied to her; wondered if she was going to be given the long drop. The elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal a hangar space and a small crowd of Quicks inside a rectangle marked with yellow paint on the floor. The PSCs marched Ori across the space, shoved her across the yellow line, told her to find a spot and wait her turn.
All of the Quicks waiting there had been touched by sprites during the quake. Ori told her story, heard the stories of others. One had been riding a bot that had fallen from the Whale’s skin during the quake – had fallen a long, long way with a sprite wrapped around it. Two others had been confronted by sprites while riding machines in a garage. Two more had been visited while they rode bots hunkered down in a vacuum-organism farm. And so on, and so on. All retained to some degree or other the impression that the sprites they’d encountered were with them still. All were haunted by ghosts in their heads.
One by one they were taken away for medical examination. Most returned; a few didn’t. It wasn’t clear if those who had returned had passed or failed the tests. It took a long time to process everyone. PSC guards tossed food packs and water bottles into the rectangle every six hours. Everyone had to share two portable shitteries. There was nowhere to sit or sleep but the floor. Not one dared to step across the yellow lines that enclosed them. It was unthinkable to leave without permission.
At last, Ori was called forward and escorted to the examination area, a space at the far end behind portable screens. She was told to take off her clothes and she was prodded and scanned from scalp to toes by a small team of medics, passed from one to the next like a piece of meat. When the last was finished with her, she was allowed to dress, and escorted back to the rectangle.
She was one of the last to be examined. The medics packed up and left; the lights dimmed, and most of the Quicks inside the rectangle tried to get some sleep. Ori sat cross-legged, eyes closed, trying to communicate with the presence inside her head. Asking it what it was, what it wanted. Trying to move the centre of her attention to the warm dark at the back of her head where it lived. She jerked awake when the lights in the hangar snapped on. The guards were shouting, telling everyone to wake up.
‘Stand up and get into formation! Five lines, right now!’
‘Face forward, backs straight!’
‘Get ready to meet the commissar!’
‘Commissar Doctor Pentangel on deck!’
Ori stood amongst the others, standing in the middle of the second rank, her heart beating quickly and lightly. The guards snapped to attention as troopers moved across the open space ahead of the tallest True that Ori had ever seen. Very tall and very pale, with a shock of black hair and a beard like an inverted triangle. He wore a long white coat that hung open at the front, showing glimpses of the girdle and arm- and leg-clamps of his exoskeleton as he tick-tocked towards the Quicks standing in orderly rows inside the yellow rectangle painted on the floor.
He looked at them for a long time, his sharp gaze sweeping back and forth. Smiling at last, saying, ‘My children.’
7
The Child lay on her bed, staring up at but not seeing the stars that floated above her in the darkness, listening to the voices of her mother and Vidal Francisca rise and fall in the living room of the bungalow. It was after midnight. They
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