CHAPTER TWO

Actium, UNSC colony – 2517

Kilk 'Sakgree felt fear. He was certain now, that somehow, there had been a mistake in the calculations. Somewhere along the line, the Oracle had made a mistake. Or perhaps 'Budamee had not been faithful enough. This could even be punishment for 'Sakgree's own lack of faith in the divinity of his mission.

The pressure on every small point of his body was so intense, it was as if he was being crushed under an innumerable amount of rock and metal. Maybe he was. Maybe the machine had failed. It was experimental, after all.

His bones were being stretched and contracted at the same time, his joints screaming. Pain was working its way into every orifice, yet he was unable to move his mouth to articulate the roar of agony he wished to let tear forth.

But just as he was certain that he would be dismembered, or crushed, the pressure eased abruptly. There was a burst of white light in his retinas, quickly returning to utter darkness, and then he had the distinct sensation that he was floating in a sludgy substance.

Something rippled across his body, like an almighty hammer had struck the substance, and then everything he could feel began to swirl. Faster and faster, whipping around in the centre of a massive storm.

Then everything stilled with suddenness.

'Sakgree realised that he was crouched down on one knee. He blinked his eyes, allowing him to make out the details of the ground in front of his face. It was flat, smooth, and grey. A small, colourful, flat, flexible object was blown on the wind across his vision. 'Sakgree followed it with his eyes until it was out of his line of sight. He then raised his head to scrutinise his surroundings.

The pathway was hemmed in on two sides by tall, soaring towers of metal. Craning his neck, 'Sakgree saw the blue sky and clouds overhead framed between the tops of what could only be buildings. Human buildings. He snarled silently.

Dropping his gaze back to the ground, he noted the piles of rubbish and refuse that clustered at the edges of the alleyway. He sneered in contempt at the filth that the humans dumped in their city.

He stood to his feet, straightening up to his full two-and-a-half-metre height.

"Oracle." He felt compelled to whisper, knowing himself to be so close to his enemies.

With a flash that sent orange lines running along every visible surface, 'Sakgree's HUD activated. The screen winked, and white text began to type itself along the top right corner.

EXECUTIONER.

DIAGNOSTICS CONCLUDE THAT ALL SYSTEMS ARE RUNNING OPTIMALLY.

WE HAVE ARRIVED.

OUR MISSION CAN BEGIN.

FOR THE RETURN.

"For the Return," 'Sakgree echoed.

ACTIVATING EXPERIMENTAL CAMOUFLAGE.

'Sakgree held up his hands, turned them over, and nodded to see that it had worked.

TRANSLATION SHOULD BE FLAWLESS. I WILL PROVIDE AID WITH LINGUISTICAL BARRIERS. I WILL ALSO PROVIDE SUGGESTED RESPONSES. YOUR ROUTE WILL BE MARKED. YOU MAY PROCEED.

Breathing deeply, 'Sakgree made his way to the end of the alleyway, and cautiously stepped out into the sunlight.

Humans walked the streets, or drove by in their wheeled, noisy vehicles. The hubbub and background roar of a city, so familiar from the times that 'Sakgree had travelled to High Charity, filled his ears.

It seemed like hundreds of eyes were upon him, making his hackles rise. Of course, to snarl audibly would attract attention, something that it was crucial he did not.

A white holographic line snaked along the ground on his HUD, starting at his feet, and leading away down the street. His path was laid out before him. All he had to do was follow the will of the gods, as spoken through the Oracle.

For the Return.

Officer Harry Glenshaw had seen all manner of people pass through the Monash Starport, the primary transit point for all traffic on and off world, nestled in the heart of the capital Numidion. On any day, hundreds of transport craft would pass through, accompanied by thousands of people. Some only went as far as other cities across Actium: New Ankara, Granada, maybe Vairon or New Wellington on the Esma Continent, just across the Kearsevain Sea. Others travelled to Earth and Reach, or in the complete opposite direction, to Harvest.

In his decade of tenure as a starport security guard, Harry had arrested his fair share of transgressors. Criminals, trying to make their way off world to escape authorities. Drug and weapon smugglers, who made a fatal slip up somewhere along the line. And the odd Insurrectionist. Those arrests were the ones that Harry took the most pride in, the incarceration of the terrorists who happily kill and maim civilians in the name of independence.

His navy-blue uniform helped him to stand out amongst the crowds of commuters, reminding them that they were protected.

He approached the main atrium, past the people waiting in line to receive their tickets, between the fencing determined by the bollards and their retractable belts. The menagerie of people squirming impatiently in the line was astounding to the first viewer. For Harry, it was merely a reminder that a criminal could be hiding in plain sight within this crowd.

Harry had to check his progress suddenly when a young boy ran out from under the one of the belts, almost right at his feet. The boy froze at seeing the imposing figure of a security guard towering over him, his head barely above Harry's knee.

Taking a step back to avoid scaring the child, Harry did his best to smile reassuringly. "You should watch where you're going, young man. I almost stepped on you."

In defiance of Harry's expectations, the boy made no reply, still staring up dumbly and frightenedly at the guard's face, his eyes twitching, and his body swaying slightly.

"Where are your parents?" Harry asked, mildly concerned by the child's reaction.

"L-L-l-let . . . me . . . think," the boy articulated through a stutter and amidst pauses.

"Georgie!"

Harry broke eye contact with the boy to face the origin of the voice: an orange haired woman hastening through the line. She ducked under the belt and scooped the boy up into her arms.

"I'm very sorry officer," she apologised. "He keeps wandering off. I'm sorry."

Harry held up a hand to ward off the streaming apology. "It's quite alright, Ms . . .?"

"Mrs," the woman corrected. "Mrs Jane Philips."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry replied. "Officer Harry Glenshaw. Safe journeys."

"Thank you," Jane replied as she moved off. Georgie kept his eyes on Harry even as his mother started speaking to him quietly. It was only then that Harry registered that the boy had been breathing heavily throughout the entire incident.

Sticking his thumbs into his belt, Harry moved on, delegating the incident to his memory files to mull over later. His stroll terminated at one of the registration desks for would be passengers. The man standing at the computer was one of the newer employees, a scrawny youth named Jacob.

He finished up with the passenger, a slightly overweight middle-aged man, just as Harry reached the desk. A sheen of sweat lay on Jacob's forehead, which he wiped at with the back of his hand.

"Slow going?" Harry asked, leaning against the desktop.

"Slow as it gets, Officer," Jacob reply, self-combing his straw-coloured hair with his hand. He plastered a smile onto his face. "Any arrests today?"

Harry smiled in response. "No. Almost took out a kid with my knee. Probably gave the poor chap a heart attack."

Jacob only had time to nod when the next person reached the desk. It was a rather absent-looking man, with no luggage, and arms that hung at his sides. He stared blankly at the two starport employees.

"Can I, uh, help you?" Jacob asked, his customer service face cracking slightly under the awkwardness of the situation.

The man lifted his head to look at the screen with the list of upcoming arrivals and departures displayed. Then he dropped his gaze back.

"Is . . . there a ship to . . .," the man began, frowning as if he was looking for the right word. "Eridanus . . . two. Eridanus II."

Jacob blinked twice. "Pardon?"

"Is there or is there not a ship to Eridanus II?" the man asked animatedly.

"Uh, yes," Jacob replied, checking his screen belatedly. "Uh . . . Flight 094. Terminal C."

"May I have a . . . ticket?"

"There's a few seats left over," Jacob nodded as he imputed the required information, and then turned the computer to face the man. "Please input your payment method."

The man was hesitant as he touched the screen. Harry watched him with curiosity as the man slowly typed on the screen. Nevertheless, it blinked green, indicating the transaction was successful.

"Excellent," Jacob murmured, taking the computer back. A slot opened on the desk, and a small card popped out. "Here you go."

"Thank you," the man responded, taking the card, before stalking off.

"Hey, mister!" Harry called. The man froze and turned around slowly. Harry gestured at a sign which displayed TERMINAL C and an arrow pointing the other way. "Terminal C is that way."

The man nodded and walked in the correct direction.

"Weirdo," Jacob muttered once the man was out of earshot.

"Not the weirdest I've seen," Harry responded. He narrowed his eyes. "Still, I'll alert the port control. Just in case."

"Look at this! Look at this!" the boy cried to his comrades. At least a dozen of them crowded around him, pushing and shoving to see what was in the boy's hand. Those few who could, were unable to make out any details, as it caught the light brilliantly and stabbed into their eyes. Finally, the boy held it at an angle where its silver surface and circular body are visible to all who wish to see.

"Where did you get that?" one boy asked, with a major bruise spreading across his face from his left eye.

"That lady gave it to me," the first boy replied. His freckled face and innocent blue eyes betrayed a fit and healthy form, a full head taller than any of the other children. He paused for a second, rolling the object between a thumb and a finger. "I mean, I won it from the lady. I beat her in a game."

"Wow," murmured another boy, this one with a stream of blood running down from his nostrils. "You beat an adult."

"Yep. Sure did."

A fourth boy made a darting grab for the beautiful object. Despite his speed, he was still too slow, as the tall boy yanked his hand out of the way and gave the other boy a shove that sent him sprawling backwards.

"Hands off, Rick," the tall boy asserted. "It's mine. I won it fair and square."

Rick got back to his feet. He clenched his hands into fists. "I'll fight ya for it."

"Yeah, I'll fight for it too," the bleeding boy agreed. A chorus of nods ran around the group, and immediately the gathering takes on the air of a gladiator surrounded by hungry lions.

"I have a better idea," the tall boy suggested, still playing with the object. This belied his eyes as they darted around, analysing his position, and preparing his next move. "Whoever can keep me off the hill for thirty seconds, can take the coin."

"What's a coin?" The question came from a younger member of the group.

"This," the tall boy grunted, holding the object up. "It's old-fashioned money, ya idiot."

"Thirty seconds," the bruised boy mused. "Sounds easy."

The tall boy smiled a mischievous, knowing smile. "We'll see."

Before anyone else could react, he took a step back and kicked out with his white shoes. A spray of dust shot up into the air, right into the faces of the other boys. They threw up their hands to protect their eyes, or, in several unlucky cases, to rub the dust out. This all bought the tall boy precious extra seconds to make the dash to the summit of the hill.

Really more of a protrusion than an actual hill, many of the children who attended this education centre used it to play King of the Hill, a game that could become brutal and rough the instant adult supervision wavered. With the added incentive of the shiny coin prize, the action moved all the way to bloodthirsty. It would take armed guards or riot police to break up the pack of scrambling children, covered in dirt and clothes torn. And the tall boy was effortless in his defence of the top of the hill, the coin enclosed in one fist. He could be an immovable statue for all the determination of the rest of the group.

The game proceeded for a few minutes. On the fringes, seated on the grass, was another boy. Unlike the tall boy, he was scrawny and slightly shorter than the others. Unlike the others, he had no interest in the game they were playing, focused entirely on a small book, a paperback novel, a curious sight in the twenty-sixth century. It was given to him by his father, a man who never seemed to have time to be around. Small, distant gifts like this, arriving from unknown sources, turning up on the doorstep, was the only tenuous connection he had with his dad.

"Why is he not around anymore? Where did he go?"

These were the questions he repeated to his mother over and over again. Answers never came, no matter how hard he pushed. He didn't even know what his dad looked like, although he imagined he looked somewhat like himself. Standing in front of a mirror, he would often touch his face gently, trying to see where he looked the same as his mother, and trying to see where he looked different. Imagining an entire face forged from the differences, the face of the man who was his father.

"Hey, Erin!"

The voice calling his name broke the boy out of the world of the novel. He looked up in the direction of the call and saw one of the boys who had been playing King of the Hill standing over him.

"Hi David," he responded hesitantly.

"Come and play with us," David insisted.

Erin looked at the chaos of the game, then slowly shook his head in answer.

"Why not?"

"Don't want to," Erin replied with a timid shrug.

"Come on," David pushed. "You never play with us. Even Ralph's playing and he's smaller than you."

Again, Erin gave a timid shrug. He was nervous, and not just of being hurt if he got involved in the game. Whenever he was around other kids, he felt uncomfortable, out of place, and he was worried that they'd all be watching him and judging him silently. He just felt . . . different, foreign, separate, and he wasn't sure why.

In what could have been a remarkable imitation of a feeding chicken, David suddenly bobbed forward and yanked the book out of Erin's hands. He was too shocked to resist or even look up in response. David waved the book around in the air.

"Now you have to play with us," he growled adamantly, before throwing the book away like a Frisbee.

"Hey!" cried Erin, leaping to his feet, his heart clenching as he saw the novel go crashing into a patch of mud that protruded amongst the grass. He took off at a desperate run to try and retrieve the book, but he didn't get very far. David stuck his leg out in front of Erin, knocking it against his shins and tripping him up onto his face.

Circling the fallen boy like a bird of prey, David's tirade was merciless. "Do you think that you're too good to play with us? Huh? Is that it?"

"No, no," Erin tried to mumble, with his elbows and knees stinging, and tears in his eyes as he lay there in the grass.

"Then why don't you play?!" David snarled violently, lashing out a kick that connected with Erin's side and drove a yelp out of the smaller boy.

"Please, please, I'm sorry," Erin gasped out in a wavering voice, his cheeks stained with tears now, curling up onto his side. "I'll play with you, I'm sorry."

But a bloodlust seemed to have taken hold of David. He continued to circle, providing more kicks frequently, all the while chanting, "Too good! Too good!"

Suddenly, he was peeled away by a strong hand that took hold of his shoulder and hurdled him backwards. He stumbled, but managed to keep his feet, anger flickering in his eyes as he faced the intruder.

The tall boy stood there, between David and Erin, the latter still lying on the ground. "Quit picking on him!"

David drew himself upright, even though he was noticeably shorter than the tall boy. "What's it to you? Stay out of this, John."

"I'm not going to," John remarked fiercely, crossing his arms. "Not while you think it's okay to beat up a kid just because he's a little nervous."

The staring contest lasted a few more seconds. Wisdom would have encouraged David to back off now. How many times had he and his friends been defeated soundly in games by John? Experience should have taught him to withdraw. But lost game after lost game had needled away at his six-year-old pride and ego. It made him want to teach this upstart, perfect, golden boy a lesson.

He swung his fist in an outwards arc, aiming for John's neck. But he was beaten to the punch by one from John, which hit him in the forehead and knocked him down.

Erin got to his knees behind John, watching in muted awe as the bigger boy came to his aide.

"How many more knuckle sandwiches do you want?" John asked David, readying another. "Get out of here."

David crawled backwards, and then stood up, clutching his forehead with one hand. With the other he pointed at John. "You left the hill! You lost the bet!"

John grunted disgustedly, before swinging his arm overhead, and letting the coin fly. It flashed in the air as it spun, before it collided with David's cheek. He screamed and took off at a run.

Bearing witness to the events, the rest of the kids began to drift off, anxious to find other things to distract themselves with. Meanwhile, John turned around and crouched down in front of Erin.

"How hard did he kick you? Do you want me to get an adult?"

Erin shook his head after a moment, before getting to his feet shakily. "I'm okay . . . I . . . thank you for helping me."

"Hey, it's no problem," John responded, smiling and patting Erin on the shoulder. He walked a short way away, picked Erin's book up from where it lay on the ground, and brushed grass off it as he came back. "Here you go. I think it's cool that you're using one of these old books."

"Thanks," Erin said shyly, taking the novel into his hands.

"My dad has a couple, but he never lets me touch 'em." John closed one eye, pressed his finger over one nostril, and snorted loudly out of the other.

"Yeah, well," Erin remarked quietly with a ducked head. "Dad gave me this one."

"Really? Cool."

"Sorry I made you lose the game."

John waved the apology off. "It wasn't your fault. David's just a huge ass."

Before he could stop himself, Erin giggled at the rude insult. John grinned in response, but before he could say anything else, a loud trill rang out through the air, the bell that signalled the end of lunchtime. Almost instantly, there was a mass migration towards the unremarkable building that was Elysium City's Primary Education Facility Number 119. In the noonday light of the star Eridanus, its exterior was bright and reflecting the yellow brightness in every direction.

Within seconds, seemingly materialised out of thin air, an adult supervisor appeared behind them. "C'mon kids, let's get inside."

John shot Erin a smile and a roll of his eyes before taking off at a jog towards the building. For a long motionless moment, Erin was panicking inside. Part of him was screaming, ordering him to ask John to be his friend, ask him if he wanted to read his book, if they wanted to read together. But instead, he only smiled, and lifted his hand in a wave that John could neither see nor hear.

As he jogged back inside the door, with the adults herding the last kids inside, he was surprised by a girl who came up to walk beside him.

"Hey," she greeted, flipping a blond ponytail over her shoulder. Erin was experiencing a sensory overload. So many new things were happening to him too quickly. All he could do was stare. For her part, she merely shrugged. "My name's Ali. I noticed you were hanging with John."

Erin wouldn't have called it 'hanging'. Especially considering the bruises he could feel forming on his chest and stomach. Despite these thoughts, he nodded cautiously.

"I should warn you," Ali continued. "John's a winner."

His lack of comprehension must have shown on his face, because she immediately continued.

"He can't lose. He has to win, no matter what. And he won't let anyone else get in his way. All the other boys hate him, but they play with him because he's a challenge. Actually, they play against him. Take my advice, kiddo: stay away from John if you know what's good for you."

She gave another dismissive shrug, and then moved off, disappearing into the rush of kids. And Erin was left with more questions and more confusion than he began with. But he had no time to think about it properly, as an adult supervisor gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the classroom. But as he stepped over the threshold, a pair of scary thoughts crossed his mind.

Did John only stand up for me just so he could compete against David?

Will he keep me around for that reason in the future?