‘I tire of this. Enough. Do not ask me these questions any more. They have begun to bore me.’ The voice was calm, but the man sensed that this was dangerous ground now. The dragon had said that it wouldn’t hurt him. But it had also said it was a dangerous friend. These two concepts seemed to contradict each other. Which was the truth?
‘Yes, of course,’ the man agreed, eager to please. ‘That is enough.’ He had gone too far. Perhaps the dragon would bite. He waited, breathing deeply, for judgement to be passed.
‘Do not be afraid,’ said the dragon. ‘And do not make me repeat myself again. I intend no harm to you. Nor to anybody else.’
‘Good,’ said the man.
‘Now I have a question for you.’
‘P-please,’ stammered the man reverently. ‘Ask me anything.’
‘Do you think, having completed some simple quests already, that you could do something else for me?’
‘I don’t know. . .’
For a moment the dragon said nothing. The man began to fear that he had offended it with his uncertainty and he cursed his own stupidity. There was a pause, pregnant with possibilities. He waited nervously.
But then, just when he could bear it no longer and was about to break into grovelling apology, the dragon spoke again: ‘It is a simple question. Will you help me or not?’
‘Yes,’ said the man hurriedly, grasping at this lifeline. ‘I will.’
‘Good.’
He felt the dragon smile behind the curtains of depthless shadow, a sensation that faintly stung his flesh, both chilling and exhilarating. ‘What,’ he asked breathlessly, ‘do you need?’
‘Simple things,’ said the dragon. ‘Little things, really.’
‘Anything,’ whispered the man, awed. ‘Anything.’
Chapter Eight
‘Prisoner Welby,’ said Ella Kown. Welby was sat on his metal-framed bed, head bowed and hands together, back towards Ella. He slowly raised his head and looked round over his shoulder. His expression was a serene blank, but his dark eyes were glazed and slightly narrowed. It was not a face that Ella could ever come to trust.
Welby slowly stood — he was only averagely-built, but he seemed larger than he really was in the tiny cell. He crossed softly, catlike, to the plastic screen, a thin smile on his lips.
‘Officer Kown,’ he said, standing before her. He was only about her size — she was stocky and tall for a woman, and in truth she’d back herself if it ever came to a fight — but she found herself wanting to step away from him all the same. She managed to resist the urge, though. ‘What can I do for you today?’ he asked.
Ella ran one hand over her wiry blonde hair, shaved number-three short, feeling a little uncomfortable beneath that steady gaze, not as if he was looking into her, but as if he couldn’t really see her at all, as if she was merely a disembodied voice. His skin looked like plastic in the neon light, smooth and fake.
‘I wanted to talk to you about Murkhoff.’
Welby shook his head slowly, eyes cast down, but Ella could see from the line of his jaw that the smile never left his lips. ‘That was an. . . unfortunate incident,’ he admitted. He looked up again, right through Ella’s face. ‘It will not happen again.’ His breath misted gently on the plastic screen between them, evidence that he was real, human like her. ‘How, may I ask, is Officer Murkhoff?’
Ella regarded him silently for a second, letting the silence speak for itself, emphasise their relationship. ‘Not happy, Welby,’ she said at last.
‘Hmm,’ said Welby, his brows pinching into the tiniest frown. ‘I have spoken to the man responsible.’
Ella saw his frown and was unimpressed by it. Is that supposed to be an expression of concern, Welby? she thought. I don’t buy it. ‘What exactly is the nature of the influence you have over the others?’ she asked.
Welby’s smile broadened in a grin that would have been innocently disarming if not for the eyes that floated above it like dark gemstones, sparkling and distant. ‘I speak the truth. For those who wish to hear it.’
‘I’m told that you have requested the facility to begin some sort of church here.’
‘No, no, Officer Kown. Ella.’ She squirmed a little to hear her own forename slip from that smiling mouth, but managed, she thought, to hide it from him. ‘A place of meeting, of discussion. I need only a small room for us to gather in from time to time.’
‘I can tell you, Welby, that isn’t likely to happen.’ In one of the cells further down the corridor somebody began to yell mindlessly, interspersing their cries with loud bangs on their glasspex screen. One of the sec-team, unidentifiable in their black combat armour, strode into the corridor from the direction of the control room and began to converse with the occupant of the cell. Their body language was a little aggressive for Ella’s tastes, especially after what had happened to Murkhoff.
Welby listened to the sounds of disturbance for a moment, unable to actually see what was happening from his side of the screen, then turned his head back to Ella. ‘And why not, may I ask?’
‘Look, if you want to start some sort of cult here — here, of all places, in the asshole of the universe — then frankly I couldn’t care less. But first, you need to do something for me. You need to demonstrate that you can be trusted. And I’m not sure if you can do that.’
‘It is hard to gain trust without the means to demonstrate trustworthiness, Officer Kown.’ He was still smiling, but she thought he was getting annoyed with her now. A tiny tick was beginning to work steadily in his jaw. A part of her was sadistically glad to see it. ‘I ask only for that opportunity. Those who will listen will be reformed. Those who will not. . .’ He shrugged benevolently. ‘I care not. I have no intention of forcing my beliefs on anyone else.’
‘And what, pray tell, are those beliefs? Specifically.’
‘That those who came before have left a puzzle for us, a test. That they are to be revered.’ He spoke as if to an ignorant but well-meaning child, full of tolerant patience.
‘Predecessor cults are generally harmless enough, Welby, in my opinion. Even in a Predecessor system, such as this one. Personally, I don’t think there’s a scrap of truth in it. They were just some loser race who quit the game altogether millions of years ago, and I can’t see any actual harm in people wanting to worship them. People have worshipped dumber stuff than that. I’m not saying that this meeting place of yours is an absolute impossibility. But it does look unlikely. What happened to Murkhoff — or anything remotely similar — must never happen again. Do you understand me?’ And she gave him her own thousand-yard-stare, one practised over many years, right hand resting emphatically on the stun-baton that depended from her belt.
Welby recoiled a little, his face a caricature of innocent injury, his palms spread. ‘Of course, Officer Kown. I regret the incident as much as you. It is not outside of my abilities to. . . discipline. . . the man responsible if you should require.’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said forcefully. ‘This is what I mean about earning my trust. My people tell me you have influence with the other inmates here — some of the other inmates — and I ask you to use that influence to promote good and peaceful behaviour. And then. . .’ She held up a finger to forestall the interruption that she could see he wanted to make. ‘Then you might get what you ask. Might.’
He beamed at that, but it struck Ella as a crocodile smile. She wondered if she would ever be able to grant his wish, or if it was madness to give this man anything he wanted. But if he could somehow make the others behave, surely it would be worth it. Another Murkhoff must not happen. Too many Murkhoffs could shut Macao down for good.