Chapter Two
I wait with the body until the Veilers – a secret organisation in association with the EF who basically just come and clear up the messes we make – arrive to take her away; then head out of the warehouse to my car, which stands at the end of two long skid in the middle of the lot. I’ve no idea where my squad is; we split up hours ago, but I’ll see them tomorrow anyway, for the interrogation.
All I really want to do is curl up right here and sleep, sleep away the fogginess in my head, the strange weight in my chest, which has just felt heavier and heavier in recent weeks. But I still have to report back to base before I can go home. The thought of facing my boss, Bulla, fills me with dread; this woman was my second loss in just under month. The second red splash on my clean record. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me lately, what has suddenly gone wrong. It’s like a sort of slowness is infecting me, a failure to see the obvious. I’m just always underestimating the humans.
I’m probably just very tired. I’m always tired these days.
I lean back into the seat and it slowly declines until I’m lying on my back, looking up through the car’s sunroof at the night sky. I soon close my eyes, not because I want to sleep but because it’s just too much effort to keep them open, and let the smooth vibrations of the tyres rushing along the concrete lull me into a peaceless doze.
It’s just fifteen minutes from the warehouse back to base, but I’m asleep in five. The automated voice startles me awake when it blares out “You have arrived.” I get out of the car, and the sound of my bare foot slapping onto the concrete reminds me that I’m still in first form. In my natural form.
The Peregrinos are shape-shifters. We first came to this planet just a-hundred years or so ago, when our own eco-system collapsed. Obviously, the humans wanted something in return for sharing their planet, which was already suffering from overcrowding, and so we gifted them with our abundant knowledge in recycling and preserving resources, and shared our great advancements in science and medicine. But, of course, vile and selfish as they are, it was not enough for the humans. Once they felt we had outlived our usefulness, after just a couple of their generations (Peregrinos live much longer than humans), they tried to get rid of us. An entire nation – the Peregrinos, who had set up in the Sahara desert, scrounging a life from the bare plains – was attacked without warning or provocation. They gassed us, believing it would have the same effect as it did on humans, since we were in human form.
But if anything, their poison made us sharper, stronger, better. We knew that if we were forced to leave Earth, we would have had nowhere else to go, unless we happened to chance across another perfectly functioning eco system able to support us, which the thousands of probes we had sent out had just happened to miss. We would float around space in our tin cans until we eventually ran out of supplies and perished.
And so we did the only thing we could do: we retaliated. There was an almighty war, and many, many lives were lost. But the Peregrinos were superior, even in our small numbers, and we eventually won. That war opened our eyes to the true nature of humans: they are greedy, selfish, and destructive, and they will do anything for their own personal gain. Such a race does not deserve control of this beautiful, precious planet. And ever since the war, the Peregrinos have made it their duty to exterminate them.
This is the story that has been relentlessly stuffed down my throat ever since I learned to speak. Probably before that. It fills the textbooks in the schools. It fills the speeches of the politicians. It fills the brains of every citizen of our world. And it fills my head too, every time I stand over one of them, with the power of life and death in my right hand. When I was young I never thought much of the story; humans didn’t have anything to do with my every day life, I’d never seen one, I never expected to see one. It was just a load more dates to memorise for the history tests, and there was certainly no competition when it came to contemplating the origin of our species or watching the latest episode of Chino on the TV. But then, something happened.
And it changed everything.
I take a quick glance around the parking lot – it’s technically illegal to morph in public, for health and safety reasons – but there’s no one around. I spread my arms out, tilting my head back, and try to focus. I become aware of every part of my body, every little muscle, every drop of blood, every cell. I hold myself there for a few seconds, feeling myself, my own power. Then I picture myself changing, from the inside out. First my heart, then my brain, the other organs, and the many bones, until I’m at my skin. I can feel it: my entire body stretching upwards, my skin thinning, my facial features shrinking. My little Peregrino wings shrivel up like burning plastic, smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left.
It only takes about thirty seconds, and when it’s done I stand completely still for a while longer, mentally checking over every limb, making sure everything’s stable. When I’m satisfied, I open my eyes and stretch a little, then look down at myself.
Looks human enough to me.
I find myself lazily wondering if the expression 'he could talk for Britain' will ever come into reality. I can think of quite a few people who could enter, but Bulla could run for gold. We’ve been here for at least an hour, while he listed every single little thing that I did wrong tonight. Honestly. Did it ever occur to him to just cut me some slack for once?
He’s spent the last ten minutes trying to persuade me that I’m not capable of this high-pressure work, and need to ‘take a break’. Yeah, right.
“Naiad! Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply, as meekly as I can manage. But he catches the weary tone in my voice and pounces on it like a wildcat.
“Naiad! What I’m saying is very important, and I’m happy to keep on repeating it until you trouble yourself to listen. Now, I realise you’re tired, but will you please consider what I’ve said, for old times’ sake. I only want the best for you.” What old times?
“Look, Sir, I’m not going to take time off. I see what you’re saying, but, really, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives me a dirty look, but after a moment it changes to concern. I wonder if the change was genuine or if he just suddenly remembered that I could see him. I thought he would argue further, but he just gives a heavy sigh and says “See you, Naiad.”
I’m still fuming by the time I get to my car. Time off. Bloody time off. I’ll give him a rest. Everyone knows that you don’t come back after leaving the EF. It’s practically common knowledge that there’s no such thing as the PS programme! It would only be a matter of hours after my dismissal that the pill goes in my cup, and bam! All gone. Everything I’ve achieved, everything I’ve worked for, all gone. And I wake up thinking my name is Mindy and I work in a factory packaging assorted vegetables. How dare he?
“Honestly,” I mutter under my breath as I get in. It’s an effort to keep my voice neutral and not snap the word “Home” into the little mouthpiece on the dashboard. A green light next to it blinks, and the engine starts. I sit back in my seat as the car moves off, and start to chew at my bottom lip.
What I don’t understand is why Bulla would want me gone. Despite the two I’ve lost, I’m still the best agent he’s got. Since my promotion last year, I’ve brought in more humans than any other single agent on the EF. So what’ve I done wrong?
I suppose if Bulla does want me gone it’ll only be a matter of time before I find out; I hope I never do. With a bit of luck he might drop it. Possibly.
Anyway, I’m too tired for this. Maybe I’ll think about it in the morning. For now, I should just try and get myself together for the interrogation tomorrow.
