The Making of Heroes

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

David Mentmore crept silently through the meadow. Above him the suns were relentlessly hot. A small insect with iridescent wings - possibly a disguised spybot, possibly real - buzzed lazily in a small circle above what appeared to be a dead creature of some kind. In front of him, about fifty yards away, was his target: a couple of girls, their backs to him, sitting on a grassy bank overlooking a meandering blue river.

He could see them, heads turned towards each other, giggling and smiling. David gripped his bow and arrows and wormed his way closer. He had to get near enough so he couldn’t miss.

He had practiced and practiced, forcing his somewhat clumsy body through a resented training routine that gave him aches, pains and blisters. It was all so stupid. In real life, in the Sparmy, he’d have a FlushGun, and he wouldn’t have to bother with any of this tupping s**t. He’d just stand up, point it in their general direction and pull the trigger. Whoosh. The girls, and half the bank they were on, would be incinerated. Or - even better - he’d be nowhere near anything so lethal and unreliable as a FlushGun. He’d be the officer - miles and miles away - who’d order the grunt with the gun to pull the trigger. He’d be in a bunker, safe underground, with an array of V-Screens showing all his men, and he’d play them like an H-Game.

That would be perfect: an H-Game with real people!

A buzzing interrupted his thoughts as the spybot - if that’s what it was - went past his ear.

Tupping s**t! His mind was wandering all over the place. Cautiously, David lifted his head. The girls were still there and now he was only about thirty yards away. Nearly, nearly close enough. Another five or so yards should do it.

Cautiously, slowly, using small careful movements of elbows and knees, David Mentmore drew closer.

In a sane world, none of this would be necessary. But cadet school, with it’s tupping stupid cadet school ethos - whatever that was - insisted on a certain level of physical fitness and coordination from twelve year old recruits, if they were then to become officers. Otherwise they’d be consigned to the dustbin.

If David failed, he’d become the tupping grunt with the tupping gun.

Concentrate! Concentrate!

He parted the stems of grass and peered forward. The girls were still there, unconcerned, chatting away. Tupping s**t, what did they find to talk about? But he was now close enough. Close enough to kill them.

Carefully, he stuck two of his three arrows in the ground just in front of him, ready for grabbing. They were about seven or so inches apart, so when he reached for one of them the other would not get in the way.

He came up onto one knee, nocking the third arrow as he did so. He was ready. David took a long deep breath, rose, sighted along the shaft at the body of the girl on the left and loosed. Even as he watched the arrow speeding to its target, his hand was reaching for another.

The first arrow struck. He was sure it struck but suddenly the girls had vanished. Had one toppled over and the other - even now - was bending over her?

David blinked and blinked again. All he could see was the bank in the sunlight and the gently waving grass and the blue of the river behind.

It wasn’t fair! He’d done everything right but somehow they’d managed to make it look like he’d tupped it up again. Tup that! Furiously, David rose to his feet and charged, nocking his arrow as he went. He reached the bank and - momentarily - paused, his bow held ready. Impossibly, the girls had vanished. In front of him the meadow gently sloped down to the river. There were a few trees a hundred yards or so away, but apart from that, no place of concealment. All was serene and quiet. In the river a large silver fish flopped over on the surface as it snaffled a fly.

Eyes darting right and left, his weapon at the ready, David Mentmore set off down the slope. As he did so he felt a sudden burning sensation in his chest. Looking down he could see the barbed tip of an H-Arrow protruding from his rib cage. Another burn and another arrowhead forced itself outward.

This was not fair! They’d shot him from behind! They shouldn’t do that, he was the hunter! In this game, no-one knew he was there, the whole test was about invisibility and killing quickly and silently and escaping like a ghost!

But they’d shot him from behind and the girls had vanished and …

Deliberately, David built the fires of his anger in a futile attempt to hold back the tears. He swirled round, the H-Arrows leaving a small trailing cloud of pixels like golden smoke.

He ignored the wet, swollen feeling in his eyes and the choked sensation in his throat. “You bastards!” It came out full of childish complaint. He took a breath and yelled again, this time concentrating, keeping his voice loud and steady. “You tupping bastards!”

Then he put his hands on his hips and waited, keeping his anger on the boil, stoking up a feeling of reckless lawlessness. He wasn’t going to keep on taking this s**t. When the officer appeared - as they always appeared - David wouldn't hesitate. He would act, ruthlessly and aggressively, and …. He wasn’t sure what he’d do, but he wasn’t going to take it lying down.

He threw his bow and remaining arrows on the ground and stamped on them. No more tupping around with childish things! He raised both fists in the air. “C’mon, you tupping bastards!” he yelled “do whatever you want!”

His voice echoed, as if he were in a tunnel, and when it died, all was still. Even the insects - if they were insects - were silent. The grass stopped waving and the clouds in the sky became motionless. He suddenly had the overwhelming feeling he was no more than a 2D figure in a painted landscape. Glancing down, he saw the H-Arrows had vanished from his chest.

Somehow, this did not surprise him.

And it was getting darker. Slowly, one after the other, the suns were becoming dim and then ceasing to exist, leaving a black space in the sky and an increasing shadow over the land. There were no stars: his universe was slowing and vanishing. A wind was getting up: he could feel it tug at his clothes and ruffle his hair. But the grass in the meadow - now rapidly disappearing - was motionless.

Another sun was not there: the sky was three quarters dark. Suddenly, out of frustration and the sheer dumbfounding unfairness of it all, David threw back his head and yelled a scream of rage, a long, undulating wordless cry, before bending forward, hands on knees, catching his breath, sucking air into his lungs.

The last sun died and he was plunged into a thick, timeless blackness before - in front of him - quite close - or it could have been a mile away - there was a thin bright rectangle of light as a door opened.