The Adventures of Abigail Saltminder. Book 1: The Complex, Page 2

  She took a bite. It was delicious, much tastier than the usual street fare of ratmince and stale bread. And onions! The mushrooms were too slimy but she ate them anyway. Then she took a generous swing of limecola and felt compelled to say something. “Is this the fastest this can go?”

  David Mentmore had been watching her closely. Now he smiled. “Not by a long way. But we’re so high speed is difficult to judge. Relative to the ground I suppose we’re going in excess of eight hundred miles an hour.” He leant back, putting his hands behind his head. “Even so, it's going to take three or four hours. Just enjoy the trip.”

  With food inside her, Abigail found she was relaxing. But there were just one or two, no, a thousand! Unanswered questions.

  She took another swig and asked, “O.K. Where are we going?”

  Still looking upwards, David said “The complex, which is our main training base. Very hush-hush. Extremely secret.” He looked round at her. “It’s physically located in the jungle.” A smile. “No stims there either.”

  “Umm.” Abigail thought about that for a moment before saying “and who are you, exactly?”

  “I suppose you mean, who are ‘we’?” David grinned. “We do special missions. Some of them are pretty dangerous!” The grin widened. “And the rest are extremely dangerous!”

  Abigail found herself grinning in response “That’s sort of what I signed up for,” she said.

  “Yeah. It’s what most people say. Anyway….” for a moment his eyes gained in intensity. “Whether you like it or not, you’re now part of our organisation, so… “ he waved a hand. “welcome aboard.”

  Abigail was silent for a moment, before broaching the big question. “But why me? What’s special about me?”

  “I was wondering when you’d ask that. It’s usually the first thing people want to know.” David paused for a moment, as if considering how much to tell her. “You saw your profile. Unusual, unique and very powerful. Something to marvel at.” Another hesitation. “But we’re not absolutely sure what it means. But no-one with a profile like yours hasn’t had some unique and very special talent. Just what it is we’re not sure, yet.”

  Abigail thought about that, her brow furrowing. Then she said “you said I’d learn why that bird crapped on the sergeant. Now you’re telling me you don’t know.”

  For an instant, he looked at her with something like respect, his eyes hooded. Then he smiled. "Oh, it’s bound to be part and parcel of the same thing.” A shrug. ”But what we do know?” He turned and looked at her, his eyes gaining in intensity ”what we do know for certain is there are very few coincidences. Not as far as someone like you is concerned.”

  Abigail found herself nodding agreement. Then she realised his answer wasn’t really an answer at all. She was being fobbed off. Frowning, she looked down. Her Sparmy boots were smearing mud on the floor.

  “Abigail.” David’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Abigail, look at me.”

  She glanced round. His eyes were blazing. “Trust me on this,” he said. ”I know what I’m talking about.” For a brief moment Abigail felt like a small animal trapped in a cars' headlights. Then, quite suddenly, her distrust melted away like an ice cube in the sun.

  Very clearly, he was completely honest and straight.

  She nodded. “OK,” she said. “That makes sense.”

  “Good.” He smiled. He was confident, assured. Once more he leant back and put his hands behind his head. “As I said, It’s a longish trip. More than three thousand miles. So settle back and enjoy it.”

  Abigail found herself mimicking him, by also putting her hands behind her head. She looked up at the sky. Night was falling, and one by one the stars were winking into existence. “Yeah,” she said, “I’ll enjoy it alright.” And then a thought struck her.

  “Tell me,” she said, “Have you got a special talent?”

  “I sure have!” He paused a beat before adding, with a chuckle, “my special talent is getting people to do what I want!” He laughed infectiously.

  Abigail laughed as well. Then she leant forward. Her tongue licked her lips. A treat she'd only ever had once before. The most delicious dish she'd ever eaten. “I want," she said, "a hot fudge ice-cream sundae.” She let out a little sigh of anticipation before adding "with extra everything!"

  Chapter 3: the Virtual Friend

  They landed well after dark, the StarStriker creating a pool of light illuminating two small buildings on a flat grassy area. Surrounding them was a mesh fence, with concrete posts and floodlights every few yards. Beyond the fence it was thick with trees, rich and luxuriant in the silver moonlight.

  Standing waiting for them was a girl. She looked about Abigail’s age and was dressed in a simple one-piece boiler suit. The moment she saw them, she started hopping up and down with excitement. David smiled. “That’s Cathy,” he said. “She’ll be looking after you.”

  As Abigail climbed out, Cathy came over. From close up, she seemed slightly glittery, with features that didn’t quite stay in one place. Abigail’s hair felt charged with static.

  She turned back to David. “A VF?” she said. “I’ve got a VF?”

  “You’ll soon get used to her.” The StarStriker started climbing. “She’ll tell you the training schedule.“ And then he was gone.

  “Oh!” Said Cathy breathlessly, “you’ve no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this moment!”

  “I bet,” Abigail was curt. She’d never been overly impressed by Virtual Friends. They seldom seemed real or, as they were only a sophisticated holo, could they actually do anything. “Tell me,” she added, “how do I turn you off?”

  Immediately, tears came to Cathy’s eyes. “Oh, Abi, why would you want to do that?” She started walking rapidly towards one of the buildings. “I haven’t even shown you round.”

  “Huh.” Abigail picked up her bag and followed. Virtual Friends, she reflected sourly, were useless for carrying things.

  Then she entered the building and stopped in her tracks.

  Abigail was used to living off her wits. Street kids lived in the cracks of society, ducking and diving, avoiding trouble. It was a furtive, small life. She often slept in nothing more than a pilfered space blanket. So, to her, the accommodation was palatial. Two biggish rooms, one a bedroom with a neat bathroom complete with (and her mouth dropped open when she saw this) a shower with hot water! The other room was a living area with easy chairs and a small kitchen. The fridge was stuffed with her favourite foods.

  After the initial surprise, Abigail took all of this in with a suspicious frown. Both a VF and luxury like this made her uneasy. It was way, way too much.

  Irritatingly, Cathy had been chatting non-stop as she'd shown her round. Abigail stopped and put her hands on her hips. “I ask again. How do I turn you off?”

  Cathy looked bitterly disappointed. “Oh, why would you want to do that?”

  Rudely, Abigail walked into her and out the other side. It was like going through a tingling curtain of static. “How?”

  Cathy sat in a chair. She was so realistic that for a moment Abigail almost forgot Cathy wasn’t real, just a 3D holo. “Clap once,” she said, “and say ‘Cathy go.’” She looked up hopefully, “and to bring me back -”

  But Abigail clapped her hands. “Cathy go!” she said, and was instantly alone. Such a lot had happened in the last few hours. She needed time to think. Suddenly, Cathy’s voice said “and to bring me back, clap your hands and say ‘Cathy come.’”

  Abigail swung round, but there was no sign of the VF. The voice seemed to originate in mid-air.

  Abigail wasn’t in the mood for games. “Bugger off!” She shouted, and Cathy, where ever she was, became silent.

  For a while, Abigail inspected the rooms. It was late, but she wasn’t feeling sleepy. Her mood had turned restless. She went into the bedroom and bounced on the bed, which was too soft. Then she tried the exterior door. Somewhat to her surprise, it opened. She’d half expected it to be locke
d. Once outside she stood in the bright moonlight and looked round. On inspection, the compound was very small, probably only 70 yards across.

  There was a sudden feeling of static. “Can I show you round?” Cathy had appeared beside her. “I’d just love to show you round.”

  “Did I ask you to come?”

  “Please, don’t send me away again. If you send me away I’ve failed.”

  Abigail sighed. “Listen,” she said. “You’re a VF. You’re supposed to come when called and go away when told.” She moved close, so close she could almost see the pixels. “You are not meant to come back unless I ask you to come back.”

  Cathy looked completely distraught. “I was created to be your friend. If you don’t want to be my friend, I’ve failed.”

  Abigail looked away. It was so hard to remember Cathy wasn't a real person!

  “Tell you what.” Cathy stuck her hands in her pockets. “You let me show you round and then I’ll go away. You won’t even have to tell me to go away, or clap your hands.” Her head went down. In front of her appeared a small virtual stone, which she moodily kicked. “And I thought we could look through your clothes together.” She grinned mischievously. “Did you know I can change clothes in the blink of an eye?” Suddenly she was garbed in a slinky black dress, then in jeans and t-shirt, then in a toga. “It’s brilliant for fancy-dress!”

  Abigail looked down at herself. She was dressed in Sparmy fatigues of a sloppy top, a pair of camoflage trousers and ill-fitting boots. Slinky black dresses? No chance. She raised her hands to clap, when Cathy, now dressed again in her boiler-suit, said, “And don’t you have lots of questions?” Her eyes were wide and eager. “I’m really really good at answering questions.”

  Abigail stopped, hands in mid-clap. The VF was a source of information, and Abigail needed information. “OK,” she said, “How many of us are there?”

  “You mean, Specials, like you?”

  Abigail stopped. “Is that what they call us? Specials?”

  “Oh yes.” And then Cathy looked genuinely apologetic. “But I don’t know how many there are. I’m sorry. I only know what they programmed me to know.” She brightened. “Can I show you round now?” her manner had altered, and somehow her face was younger. She now seemed about twelve, with her hair in a pony-tail. She had become a kid sister.

  Abigail looked at her. ‘She’s changing.’ She thought. ‘The more I talk to her, the more she changes. They are trying to make me trust her.’

  Abigail took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then shrugged. “O.K” she said, “show me round.”

  Cathy gave a little hop of excitement. “Great!” Then she paused and giggled. “Show you round! How silly of me. There’s only where you live and the training room.” She moved a few steps and stood by the door into the only other building on the small site.

  Abigail looked in. Some sophisticated looking electronic equipment, a load of wires and what appeared to be a massage table. Spiker might have been excited by the electronics, but Abigail wasn’t. Boring.

  As they walked back, Abigail asked, “So, where is everyone?”

  “They’re in the main complex. That’s where David’s gone.”

  Abigail stopped again. “Where is the main complex?”

  “I’m not sure. Quite close I think” came the reply,“I was only created yesterday. There’s lots of things I don’t know.” Then she hopped up and down as an idea occurred to her. “I know what, let’s party!”

  Abigail turned and went back indoors. “I’m hungry,” she said.

  Cathy followed. “Oh, do say yes! We could have such fun!”

  Abigail found a burger meal and slammed it into the Poppity-Ping. “Huh,” she said scornfully “a party? Just you and me?”

  Chapter 4: the P-Suit

  “Oh no!” Cathy clicked her fingers. Another Cathy shimmered into view, this time wearing a tight little dress and a lot of makeup. “I can split into as many people as you want!” Both VFs clicked their fingers. Two boys appeared. “And I can be in any shape you want!” All four of them clicked their fingers a couple of times and suddenly the room was full of VFs, laughing and chatting. Music was playing, some of them were dancing, all were having an excellent time.

  The air turned electric.

  A young man, pleasantly handsome, came over. “Hi Abi!” he said. “Let’s dance!” He did a fast shuffle with his feet, a roll of the hips.

  For a brief, absurd moment, Abigail was tempted. So what if he wasn’t real? Did it really matter if it was all just a computer illusion? After all, she’d played some holo-games so perfect it was hard to tell what existed and what did not.

  A Cathy (which one? Abigail wasn’t sure) joined them, grinned and nodded towards the bedroom. “You’ve got a P-Suit in your wardrobe,” she said.

  Suddenly wide-eyed, Abigail looked at her. A P-Suit! The tech they had was truly breathtaking. She’d never worn one, never even seen one, but she knew the ‘P’ stood for pressure. Made of a thin, ultra lightweight material, a P-Suit wrapped around the wearer like a second skin. Every square inch was covered in tiny nanobots too small to be seen with the naked eye. The nanobots would synchronise with the nearest holo, to give the illusion of touch. So for instance if a VF seemed to brush his hand up your arm, the nanobots would instantly create a wave of pressure so it would feel he was actually touching you.

  Abigail looked at the boy who’d asked her to dance. If she were wearing the P-Suit, she would feel his hand in hers. If he touched her waist to spin her round, it would seem as if he was actually there. Wearing a P-Suit made VFs appear real.

  Inwardly, Abigail let out a long, lonely sigh. She had never danced. Sometimes an impromptu street party would start up in one of the rusting rooms, the doors locked against the E-Spiders. Scratchy music would be playing. Stims would be passed round. And two or three couples would dance, moving to the beat. And Abigail would sulk, lounging against a wall, feeling the iron rivets against her back, aware she was not a graceful mover, too self-conscious to join in.

  But now! Abigail glanced at the boy, who smiled again at her. He was a VF. They were all VFs, and Virtual Friends never laughed at you. They were there to make you feel good, no matter what you did. She could trip over and fall flat on her face, but they would only be concerned for her. They wouldn’t laugh. Almost certainly some of them would also fall over, to make her feel better. In fact they’d probably behave as if it were a fantastic new game she’d just invented.

  It was now after midnight. Usually at this time Abigail would be in her small, somewhat grubby bed, with her doors locked against the E-Spiders. But now, she wasn’t at home. She was thousands of miles away in the middle of the jungle. She’d been selected to join an elite team and had a special talent, although they didn’t know what it was yet. Abigail stood a little straighter. She was Abigail Saltminder, and she could do what she wanted!

  She marched towards the bedroom. “Show me.”

  In the bottom of a drawer, the P-Suit glinted and shimmered, slow colours morphing into each other like oil on water.

  It appeared as fragile as gossamer,

  Abigail put out a finger and touched it. The material was so fine she could hardly feel it.

  “Look!” Cathy’s voice was almost reverential. She reached in and, with a motion as graceful as a dancer, drew it out and held it in front of her. “I can touch it!” She bounced up and down with electronic enthusiasm. The P-Suit rippled, colours cascading. “Oh, Abi! I can touch it!” She held it out. “Put it on!”

  Abigail took a deep breath and started fiddling with a zip then stopped. “Maybe I’ll try it tomorrow,” she said, her face reddening.

  Cathy looked at her, head on one side, then grinned. “All you have to do,” she said, “is to put it on your head.”

  When she took it, the P-Suit was warm to the touch and clung to Abigail’s fingers, wrapping around them almost as if it were living tissue. Now she looked more closely, it wasn’t a ‘suit’
at all. It was too small, maybe only two feet square, without arms or legs. It resembled nothing more than a large veil.

  Doubtfully, she looked at Cathy.

  Cathy's grin grew wider. “Go on,” she said, “I dare you!”

  Abigail hesitated for a moment longer and then, with a sudden swift movement, she drew the P-Suit over her short dark hair.

  For a spilt second, nothing happened. Then she felt the P-Suit tighten and wrap around her head before flowing downwards. It was as if she'd walked through a curtain of oil. It cascaded down, sliding under her clothing and through her hair, covering every inch of her skin. Abigail bought her hands up to her face, just in time to see them changing, the skin turning from its usual grubby pink to a moving slew of slow colours.

  She glanced at the mirror. Her face was also a riot of colour. At first she was taken aback, then she grinned. Her spirits rose. She turned to Cathy and with a feeling of utter recklessness, said “OK, let's party!”

  * * *

  David Mentmore looked at the V-Screen. On it he could see Abigail, her face glowing with shifting colour, dancing very badly among a crowd of holos also dancing very badly.

  He smiled.

  “Vanish VFs,” he said, and all the multiple versions of Cathy faded into nothingness. It was just Abigail, short and stout, wearing a completely inappropriate skimpy little dress of some kind, twirling and whirling and laughing.

  She looked, David thought, pathetic, sad and ridiculous.

  His smile became a grin. Things were going exactly to plan. It wouldn’t take long.

  Chapter 5: George

  Abigail woke. She had a headache, sore arms, aching legs and, of course, a hungry stomach. Late nights, she decided, were not for her. As she sat up, she noticed her hands were multi-coloured. For a moment, she was nonplussed, but then she realised. The P-Suit! She was still wearing the P-Suit!

  She glanced in the mirror. She was wearing not just the P-Suit, but also a nausea-inducing pink outfit. She looked ridiculous.

  What had possessed her? Sourly, Abigail tried to think about the events of the day before, but her head hurt and she soon gave up. Groaning, she stood and shuffled over to a window. Outside, the tropical sun beat down unremittingly. The jungle pressed against the fence.

  Abigail stared at it all. What on earth was she doing here, multi-coloured and dressed like an idiot? A feeling of revulsion overtook her. She lifted her hands and there, on the inside of her wrist, was a small steady point of light. The de-activation button. She pressed it, and the P-Suit, like a blind being drawn upwards, retreated. Soon, it was no more than a two foot square of translucent material draped on her head.