voice low. ‘A disaster. You know the casualty rate? As close to a hundred per cent as makes no difference.’
‘You survived.’ There is something bitter in his voice.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘No thanks to shits like you.’
‘ What did you say? ‘
‘No thanks to HQ, sir.’
‘It was a victory,’ says Colonel Vijay. ‘To suggest otherwise is treason.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Glorious, wasn’t it? Makes me wonder about all those other victories we keep winning.’
Turning on his heel, he begins to stalk towards my troopers and then changes his mind. The next time I see our little colonel, he is laughing with Morgan and the blonde with four tits and thousand-mile eyes.
Strikes me, they are made for one another.
It is a long night and I lose the Aux somewhere down the line. Although I glimpse Colonel Vijay, with a glass of wine. The woman he’s talking to has her face close to his, and they are agreeing about something, strongly from the look of it.
‘I had no idea,’ she tells me later.
‘What?’ I demand.
‘That Octovians . . .’
Can hold their drink? Don’t fart in public? As she struggles with words I’m not interested in hearing, I wonder if it is a good idea for her to stand like that on a mirrored floor when she has clearly forgotten her knickers.
Who knows what she’s trying to say?
The woman hesitates. ‘Are so cultured ,’ she says finally.
‘Not all of us.’
She laughs, tells me she wants to introduce me to a friend.
His name is Obsidian, and he’s Paper’s grandfather. Looking at him, I can’t see a likeness. Unless it is his eyes. They are narrow, slightly almond in shape and cold as ice. His smile is equally chilly. ‘Sven,’ he says. ‘I’ve heard interesting things about you.’
‘Can’t say I’ve heard of you.’
Obsidian Osamu tells me I’m part of an important mission. A chance . . . A rare, unmissable chance — their president thinks — for the U/Free to integrate with galactic society. He keeps an utterly straight face as he says this. I’m really hoping he doesn’t expect me to believe it. Even the U/Free can’t think we’re that stupid.
‘But first,’ he says, ‘a small favour.’
The request obviously means more to him than it does to me, because his voice trembles as he tells me what it is. Don’t think I have seen a U/Free nervous before. I file the fact away for later.
‘You’ll do it?’
Looking round the room, I say, ‘Way I feel now it would be a pleasure.’ It’s not the answer he’s expecting.
———
The cubicle walls are marble, the floor is warm and the lighting inside the cubicle so subtle it’s impossible to tell where it comes from. But it is the seashell in a little tray on the wall that interests me. What the fuck is that about?
Crumbling it between my fingers, I discover it’s real.
When I look back another replaces the one I took. So I smash that and keep watching. A third shell appears — and I mean appears — it doesn’t drop down or slide out. It simply appears.
This time when I take the shell, I don’t break it.
Comparing the third and fourth tells me each shell is different. I’m still not sure why they are there. I mean, all anyone comes in here to do is piss or take a shit. Flushing the pan, I wash my fingers and dry them on the seat of my trousers.
There’s nothing else to use.
A door opens in the restroom beyond.
Someone pees, water runs. That’s my cue to get myself out there. At the basin, a U/Free looks up. He is old, examining his face carefully in the glass as if he’s never seen it before.
Seeing a stranger behind him, he scowls. Then remembers his manners and forces a smile. I don’t know his name. But I know he has been watching us all evening.
‘So,’ he says. ‘You’re off to mend bridges . . .’
The coy way he says this irritates me. Also, I don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about and that irritates me even more. He takes my grunt as an invitation to
‘You survived.’ There is something bitter in his voice.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘No thanks to shits like you.’
‘ What did you say? ‘
‘No thanks to HQ, sir.’
‘It was a victory,’ says Colonel Vijay. ‘To suggest otherwise is treason.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Glorious, wasn’t it? Makes me wonder about all those other victories we keep winning.’
Turning on his heel, he begins to stalk towards my troopers and then changes his mind. The next time I see our little colonel, he is laughing with Morgan and the blonde with four tits and thousand-mile eyes.
Strikes me, they are made for one another.
It is a long night and I lose the Aux somewhere down the line. Although I glimpse Colonel Vijay, with a glass of wine. The woman he’s talking to has her face close to his, and they are agreeing about something, strongly from the look of it.
‘I had no idea,’ she tells me later.
‘What?’ I demand.
‘That Octovians . . .’
Can hold their drink? Don’t fart in public? As she struggles with words I’m not interested in hearing, I wonder if it is a good idea for her to stand like that on a mirrored floor when she has clearly forgotten her knickers.
Who knows what she’s trying to say?
The woman hesitates. ‘Are so cultured ,’ she says finally.
‘Not all of us.’
She laughs, tells me she wants to introduce me to a friend.
His name is Obsidian, and he’s Paper’s grandfather. Looking at him, I can’t see a likeness. Unless it is his eyes. They are narrow, slightly almond in shape and cold as ice. His smile is equally chilly. ‘Sven,’ he says. ‘I’ve heard interesting things about you.’
‘Can’t say I’ve heard of you.’
Obsidian Osamu tells me I’m part of an important mission. A chance . . . A rare, unmissable chance — their president thinks — for the U/Free to integrate with galactic society. He keeps an utterly straight face as he says this. I’m really hoping he doesn’t expect me to believe it. Even the U/Free can’t think we’re that stupid.
‘But first,’ he says, ‘a small favour.’
The request obviously means more to him than it does to me, because his voice trembles as he tells me what it is. Don’t think I have seen a U/Free nervous before. I file the fact away for later.
‘You’ll do it?’
Looking round the room, I say, ‘Way I feel now it would be a pleasure.’ It’s not the answer he’s expecting.
———
The cubicle walls are marble, the floor is warm and the lighting inside the cubicle so subtle it’s impossible to tell where it comes from. But it is the seashell in a little tray on the wall that interests me. What the fuck is that about?
Crumbling it between my fingers, I discover it’s real.
When I look back another replaces the one I took. So I smash that and keep watching. A third shell appears — and I mean appears — it doesn’t drop down or slide out. It simply appears.
This time when I take the shell, I don’t break it.
Comparing the third and fourth tells me each shell is different. I’m still not sure why they are there. I mean, all anyone comes in here to do is piss or take a shit. Flushing the pan, I wash my fingers and dry them on the seat of my trousers.
There’s nothing else to use.
A door opens in the restroom beyond.
Someone pees, water runs. That’s my cue to get myself out there. At the basin, a U/Free looks up. He is old, examining his face carefully in the glass as if he’s never seen it before.
Seeing a stranger behind him, he scowls. Then remembers his manners and forces a smile. I don’t know his name. But I know he has been watching us all evening.
‘So,’ he says. ‘You’re off to mend bridges . . .’
The coy way he says this irritates me. Also, I don’t have the faintest idea what he’s talking about and that irritates me even more. He takes my grunt as an invitation to
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