The Best British Fantasy 2014 Read online

  Rik patted the coarse fabric that covered his body, panicking when he could find no discernable trace of a joint or a clip that held it in place. He reached up and touched the curvature of the hard material that encompassed the sides of his head.

  ‘What have you done?’ he screamed. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Nurse,’ said the doctor, ‘bring in the mirror.’

  A young woman in a militarised version of a nurse’s uniform wheeled in a full sized mirror. She sported an Aries badge on her sleeve and a tattoo on her cheek. The doctor and his daughter stepped to one side to give her space.

  ‘Get out of bed,’ said the doctor. ‘See what we have created. You and thousands like you, my friend.’

  Rik stumbled out of the bed and stood before the mirror. He was appalled by what he saw. His thighs pumped up and bulked out – his shoulders even bulkier and impossibly broad. Every inch of him covered in wiry curls of coarse silverwool armour. Lacquered brown horns, curved into ferocious spirals on the sides of his head. His feet split and reformed into cloven hooves. They had made him into a killing machine – a dreadful Arian warrior.

  This was far worse that anything the torturer had been able to come up with. It was the dehumanisation that had started with segregation taken far beyond the persistence of psychological indoctrination and given actual physical form. A tear welled in his eye and was lost amongst the frizzy curls of silverwool on his cheek.

  He looked at the three of them – the doctor, his adopted daughter, the nurse peeping out from behind the mirror. They gazed back at him with awe and he sensed how thoroughly they had already pinned their warped and polluted hopes on him. Their soft flesh and puny stature was nothing compared to what they had made of him and he was ashamed at the disdain he suddenly felt for them.

  Then it hit him – like some stark prophecy written in the stars. With an almost painful crystal clarity he understood that when the last Sagittarian was finally hunted down and destroyed, the seeds of yet another war would be sewn – a war between those who had been adapted and those who had not. And with it the dark dawning of the age of the true Arian would usher in its final solution.

  HELEN JACKSON

  Build Guide

  The new apprentice was a slight, childish figure, maybe 150cm tall and massing about 50 kilos. She clung to a grabrail and glared at us. She looked nauseated. She wasn’t what I’d hoped for.

  The Gaffer said what we were all thinking: ‘Great. They’ve sent us a little girl. She’s no good to us. Did you know about this, Peggy?’

  I shook my head and sighed. I was too old to wrangle teenagers. The Earthside contractor we worked for had embraced the New Modern Apprentice scheme. They got government subsidies, tax breaks, and good PR. We got a stream of unemployed – possibly unemployable – youngsters. This was the youngest yet.

  The Gaffer spoke to the kid. ‘What’s your name, girlie?’

  ‘Grace Benjamin Murray, gramps,’ the kid said, pointedly. She spoke with spirit, despite still being doped up from the shuttle journey, in a pronounced South London accent. Eltham, maybe, or Kidbrooke. One of the rougher estates. The Gaffer didn’t rise to the challenge.

  ‘How old are you, Grace Benjamin Murray? Fifteen?’

  Murray kept her head up. ‘I’m nearly nineteen and I’ve been through full training.’

  Diego snorted. ‘What, six weeks groundside? Think that’ll help you up here, nearly-nineteen?’

  Murray looked fit to explode. She reminded me of myself at that age: scrappy and determined. I stepped in before she could say something she’d regret.

  ‘Peggy Varus, foreman’s assistant,’ I introduced myself. ‘You’ll be bunking in with me. The Gaffer’s Rasmus Larsson, Mr Larsson to you.’ I nodded at the Gaffer and hoisted a thumb Diego’s way. ‘He’s Diego.’

  ‘Mr Fernandez to you.’

  ‘In your dreams,’ she said, letting go of her grabrail and attempting to step forward. As she floated, her face went distinctly green. I barely got the sick bag to her in time.

  The Gaffer looked disgusted. Diego burst out laughing. I hustled the kid away before she could get herself in more trouble.

  ‘Can we keep her inside?’ asked the Gaffer. ‘I haven’t got time to babysit.’

  We were running through the week’s build guide for the nth time. Although we’d each be fed our step-by-steps on the Head Up Displays, it helped to know the full operation by heart.

  ‘I don’t see how,’ I said, pausing the build guide at step five and pointing at the holo. ‘It’s a four person job from here onwards.’

  We’d received a steelwork delivery along with our problem child and were ready to move onto the main truss extension. We’d also received a new boatload of tourists. The hotel accommodated fifty sightseers, keen to view the Earth from space. It’d take twice that many once we completed the new wing.

  ‘Could we adjust to use the three of us plus an arm?’ asked the Gaffer.

  ‘Not a chance. Roboarm-1 will be doing the heavy lifting, Diego’ll be attached to R-2 in order to come in from the offside, and R-3’s giving rides to the visitors.’ The Gaffer looked thoughtful. I headed him off: ‘We’ll never get permission to requisition R-3.’

  He nodded acknowledgement. We’d asked before, without success. ‘Can we re-programme the build to use a maximum of three people?’

  ‘I already looked at it. Today’s on the critical path: we’d lose a lot of time.’

  This wasn’t quite true. I could see a way of reprogramming, but it would affect the delivery schedules for several suppliers I wanted to keep happy. I knew the Gaffer wouldn’t question me.

  He frowned. ‘Okay, we’ll take her out. But I don’t want her causing trouble. Watch her, Peggy.’

  I contemplated Murray as we suited up. She was over her space-sickness and handled her suit fasteners with confidence. It looked as if she’d stayed awake during training.

  ‘Hey, nearly-nineteen,’ said Diego. ‘D’you know one end of a podger wrench from the other?’

  Murray pulled the wrench out of her tool belt. ‘Sure do. Used to have these in the gang.’ She paused and lifted it in a raised fist, spike end forward. ‘Pointy end for stabbing, blunt end for hitting, right?’ Diego blanched. The Gaffer pushed forward and grabbed it from her.

  ‘No way were you in a gang, girlie. Stow this and stop menacing Diego.’

  Murray took the podger back, but didn’t replace it on her belt immediately. She floated it near her hand. ‘Was too. Steel erector gang. Started straight from school. I’d done eight months when the recession hit and we got laid off. I know what I’m doing with a podger.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Diego. ‘Fifty quid says every nut you put on today needs tightening by a real erector.’

  ‘Give over, Diego,’ I said. ‘That’s not a fair bet.’ It takes several shifts to figure out how to apply the right torque in microgravity, and fifty pounds was more than an apprentice’s daily wage. I expected the Gaffer to intervene. He stayed quiet.

  ‘Too right it isn’t fair,’ said Murray. ‘It’ll be the easiest fifty I’ve ever earned. Wanna make it a hundred?’ She held out her gloved hand to shake on the bet, an awkward Earth gesture that made Diego sneer.

  ‘Helmets on,’ said the Gaffer.

  I got a glimpse of Murray’s resolute expression before the gold visor hid it. I admired her commitment to making a fast buck. She’d go far, if she could master her over-confidence. Maybe I should take an interest in her?

  ‘Clip in, Murray,’ I said, passing her a line. ‘Attach the other end to the red rail as soon as you get outside. Understand?’ She nodded, hooked in, and looked back at me. Her body language said she expected something else. I waited.

  ‘Where’s my secondary line?’ she asked. She really had been awake during training.

  ‘We can’t use secondary lines today. Wit
h the four of us, and the build order we’ve got, we’d get tangled with two lines each.’

  ‘Safety handbook says no-one’s to go out without primary and secondary lines.’ Murray spoke quietly. She moved back, away from the airlock. She sounded even younger without her attitude.

  The Gaffer entered the code to open the airlock inner door. As the release alert beeped, I did my best to sound reassuring.

  ‘Construction Manager Caldwell set the build order. If she says it’s safe, it’s safe. We work without a secondary line all the time.’

  ‘But what if it breaks, or comes loose? Safety handbook says – ’

  ‘Safety handbook? Not so tough now, are you, nearly-nineteen?’ said Diego.

  Murray shut up, and pulled herself into the airlock with the rest of us. We exited on the off side of the space station. Diego and the Gaffer headed to their positions. I kept Murray near the airlock door. If she panicked I wanted to be able to stuff her back inside straight away.

  ‘This is freaky,’ she said, floating a step away from the door. She didn’t sound scared any more, she sounded awed. I could remember my first time well enough to know what she was experiencing. Space is different from the neutral buoyancy lab. Sure, the suit floats in the pool, but in space . . .

  ‘I’m floating inside my suit!’

  ‘How’re you feeling? Any nausea? Headaches? Dizziness? Anything strange happening to your vision?’

  She brought her legs up and pushed off, drifting until her line pulled taut. Over the radio, I could hear her laughter: bubbling glee rather than hysteria. Looked like she wasn’t going to pass out on me. Next step, dealing with the view.

  ‘Murray, pull yourself back in now.’ She didn’t obey immediately, still caught up in the sensation of floating. I raised my voice a notch. ‘Murray!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m coming.’ She remembered enough of her training to grab hold of the line rather than using her legs to manoeuvre; I’ve seen plenty of apprentices floundering as they kicked off against nothing at all. Murray’s return wasn’t elegant or fast, but it wasn’t bad. She had promise.

  ‘We’re going round to the Earth side. Use the green grabrails, hand over hand like this,’ I demonstrated, ‘don’t try to float. Stay behind me.’

  She kept up, until the Earth rose in her vision. I heard her indrawn breath. She stopped dead. I’d been expecting it – the view from Earth-Moon L5 is something special – and carried on moving steadily.

  The planet was the only colour in the sky. There wasn’t much cloud that day; big banks of white over the Americas, but vivid blue elsewhere, with the landmass of Europe clearly visible. I always liked being able to see England. I missed home.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘It’s a real challenge to ignore those visuals. This is where you have to remember your training and focus on the job you’re here to do. Can you do that, Murray?’

  She reached for the next grabrail and hauled herself forward. She’d almost caught up when she spoke. I swear I could hear the shrug in her voice.

  ‘Where’s the big deal? Seen it a million times.’

  She seemed to mean it. I stopped.

  ‘Seeing it on a screen’s hardly the same as being here.’

  She took her right hand off the rail and brought it up to her helmet. ‘Nah,’ she said, cheeky. ‘The view was better in the movies, without all this Head Up Display crap getting in my face. Are we starting work or aren’t we?’

  I got moving. I’d noticed a similar attitude in the last apprentice. The way these kids took space for granted made me feel ancient. It was time I moved Earthside, if only I could find the right successor. If the company had had a decent pension plan, or I’d managed to skim enough, I’d have taken retirement years ago.

  Diego was plugged on to Roboarm-2 when we reached our work point. The Gaffer got us started, steadily talking us through the build, step by step, reinforcing our HUD visuals, keeping everyone together.

  The three of us worked well as a team. The Gaffer and I had been on the same crew for eleven years. I knew he’d make sure we got the job done, and he knew I’d deal with the paperwork without bothering him. Diego was into his third year with us and the Gaffer was training him well. Still, a fourth pair of hands – even clumsy hands – came in useful.

  Construction Manager Caldwell had done a nice job of allocating tasks. For the first hour or so, Murray’s role was restricted to nudging the position of steelwork lifted in by R-1. She’d had enough time in the neutral buoyancy pool to understand near-zero weight doesn’t mean near-zero inertia. She did okay.

  Her troubles started when she had to use tools. It took her nearly a quarter of an hour to get her first nut onto a bolt. She struggled with the gloves. It was painful to watch. When she’d finally got it tightened, I moved over to check it. It needed a finishing twist. So did the next one, and the next, much to Diego’s delight.

  ‘Looks like my drinks’ll be on you tonight, nearly-nineteen.’

  Murray swore viciously and promptly got worse. She dropped her podger, grabbed for it with reflexes conditioned to Earth gravity and missed. It headed in the direction of the main hotel viewport. The Gaffer pushed out and snagged it.

  ‘Take a breather and calm down,’ he said, before passing it back. ‘And, Diego, concentrate on your own work.’ Diego was working well. He and the arm operator had a smooth rhythm going; they made a difficult job look easy.

  ‘Hey,’ I said to Murray, ‘come over here for a while and watch how I do it.’ She did. I explained what I was doing and got her to repeat it. She dropped her wrench again. It was a long day.

  Towards the end of the shift, Murray had mastered catching a dropped wrench. She’d done it often enough for her reflexes to adjust to microgravity. She was still struggling to do fine work with her gloves on: I made a mental note to give her a nut and bolt when we went in so she could practice overnight. She was getting better at applying torque, and she was really working at it.

  ‘Nearly,’ I said, tightening off one of her connections.

  ‘I’m gonna get this right, Peggy. Here, try that.’

  ‘Nearly, again.’

  ‘That?’

  ‘Another nearly.’

  I thought she’d lose patience, but she kept at it. As we moved onto our last step of the day she’d all but got the knack. Her last-but-one joint was almost good enough to let through. The rest of us had finished work. Diego and the Gaffer were watching. There was certainly enough torque for it to hold. I paused . . . considered letting her have it . . .

  ‘I’ll check it myself if you don’t hurry up,’ said Diego.

  I had to call it.

  ‘Almost, but not quite,’ I said. Murray was already putting on the last nut, handling her podger neatly.

  ‘Here,’ said the Gaffer, ‘let me check that one.’ It took a while for him to pull over. ‘Hey, nice work, girlie.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Murray. She hung nearby, a little too close.

  ‘This is good for your first day out.’

  ‘Good enough?’

  The Gaffer gave the nut one last adjustment.

  ‘Nearly. You’ll get the hang of it tomorrow. Should I take that hundred out of your first week’s pay?’

  Murray turned up early for the next workshift, carrying her gloves and practice bolt. Construction Manager Angela Caldwell was talking to the Gaffer while I checked the lines. Caldwell had her long grey hair tied back and wore a singlet that showed the scars on her arms.

  I greeted Murray as she came in. ‘Keen to get outside again, are you?’ I asked. I was pleased. Enthusiasm was natural in a kid her age.

  ‘Nah, not specially. Wanted to talk to the Gaffer about today’s build.’

  The Gaffer heard and turned, one eyebrow raised, breaking off his conversation with Caldwell. Although he and I went through the buil
d guide every day, we didn’t expect input from the rest of the team. Not that it was banned; it just wasn’t traditional.

  ‘Angela, this is our latest apprentice, Grace Murray,’ he said. ‘Murray, Construction Manager Caldwell. What did you want to talk about?’

  Angela Caldwell gave Murray a level, assessing look. They were about the same height. Murray didn’t speak. I hadn’t seen her intimidated before. Diego arrived during the silence, realised something was going on, and kept his mouth shut. The Gaffer prompted Murray.

  ‘Come on girlie, speak up. You’ve got something to say about the build order?’

  Murray could speak nicely when she wanted to; she’d learnt to smooth out her accent.

  ‘It’d work better if we did steps eighteen and nineteen first, then went back to step one,’ she said. ‘We’d get the biggest section bolted into place early, meaning we could separate into two teams after that. We could get five steps ahead of the day’s programme.’ She looked away. ‘Plus we’d be able to use two lines for the full shift.’

  Diego rolled his eyes.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ asked the Gaffer. ‘You’re going to have to get used to working with one line. It’s perfectly safe.’

  ‘It wasn’t safe for Batukhtina.’

  They’d shown the same training video back when I apprenticed. Batukhtina was an early casualty; she’d been doing a solo repair on ISS-2 when her line snapped.

  The video is silent. For the first few minutes Batukhtina’s visor reflects the space station. Look closely and there’s a face at the viewport: her colleague . . . watching . . . helpless. Then, Batukhtina stops reaching towards him, turns away, and relaxes, facing the Earth, arms and legs spread-eagled.

  She had floated gently away with sixty-nine minutes of oxygen and no way of getting back. It gives all of us the shivers. Just thinking about it reminded me how much I wanted to go home. If I found someone I could trust to take over my work I’d be on the next shuttle back to Earth. Sure, I’d miss the view, but I could live with that.