The Hatch

Chapter 1

Chapter One

It’s a coffin-less funeral.

I watch the ceremony from my front-row seat. We’re burying Mum. She went on a mission for the Earth Aeronautics and Space Administration, better known as EASA, and never came back. They say her ship exploded.

The leader of the World Council, Mandon Allic, is present. He is a scary man with red, synthetic eyes and red and gold tattooed stripes across his face. I don’t like him, even though he speaks well of Mum, telling those gathered about how brave she was, representing her planet in support of global security. Of course, he doesn’t say anything specific because Mum’s mission was a secret.

I’m not farewelling a body but a memory. I haven’t seen Mum since I was six. That was five years ago. I remember long, caramel hair that smelled like nutty fudge and a lovely smile full of love. She was not pretty in a flowery way but still beautiful, like a big cat; a black cat, because she used to wear black. They all do at EASA. That’s their uniform—a shiny, tight, black suit. I don’t like it either and I promise myself, then and there, that I’ll never wear it.

The funeral is over. We are ushered into a neat room and served round bread patties with sugar. The sweet food is a luxury and I eat two, quickly and greedily, making my throat dry.

Jem, my older brother, eats one, slowly. He is always trying to act like an adult these days, doing the right thing, being polite and all that. He has Mum’s hair, that caramel shade, which reminds me of the sun shining through light chocolate. He also has her proud walk and so much courage. He’s the bravest person I know. He’s always trying to protect me, even from things I don’t need protection from, but it’s nice to know he cares. Sometimes, I wonder if he cares too much.

My younger and rather tubby brother, Neath, eats four patties! I see him, stuffing them into his pouch at his waist belt, then one by one popping them into his mouth for a hurried chew and swallow. It’s impressive to watch. I wish I could eat four, but annoyingly, my stomach has already had its fill. Neath is three years younger than me. We are all aged three years apart. He was only three when Mum left. I suppose he didn’t have much memory to bury today.

Dad doesn’t eat any of the patties. He’s too sad and angry. He doesn’t like EASA or the World Council—blames them for Mum’s death. He says if they didn’t let her go on the mission, she would have been home all these years, being a mother to us.

Given Mum wanted to go on the mission in the first place, I have to assume she didn’t want to be a mother so much. She chose to go. I know she did. She told me before she left that she had to go because she had an important mission to carry out. She was doing it for us, she said.

I wish Dad wouldn’t be angry. He should just be sad and eat the nice patties.

Jem approaches a woman. She’s a broad woman with closely cropped black hair and a wide forehead. Her features are dark and heavy. Everything about her is dark and heavy, including her mood. The tight, black EASA suit stretches awkwardly across her mountainous chest and rounded hips.

Jem starts speaking with her. He is speaking fast. What he has to say takes ages and he seems worked up about it. I watch him closely. He is relaying information, not conversing. It’s him doing all the talking. She’s listening with all her might. What’s he telling her, this stranger?

I weave between EASA uniformed personnel, trying to get closer.

The woman’s face is oddly fixed on a neutral expression. She is not reacting to what Jem is saying and yet, I can sense she is deeply disturbed. Why is she hiding her distress? What a good job she does of holding her face still.

I push closer but as I come within earshot, Jem stops mid-sentence and turns.

‘Britta, go back to Neath. You need to make sure he’s okay.’

‘He’s okay. He ate four.’

‘Then help him eat five.’

‘No one could have that many. They fill you up.’

‘I need to talk in private.’

‘A secret?’

‘Yes. Now go away.’

I stare at the woman. ‘Who are you?’

She doesn’t answer.

‘This,’ Jem says, ‘is the head of EASA. She’s a very busy person and you’re wasting her time.’

‘I’m not. I just got here. Don’t mind me. Keep telling the secret. I can keep a secret.’

‘I think I’ve heard enough,’ the woman says briskly. ‘Jem, I think it best we bring you in. You’re young but I know you have the same qualities as your mother. We need you at EASA. I’ll talk to your father…’

‘You want to take Jem? For training at EASA?’

‘Britta!’ Jem is furious with me. ‘Go away now.’

‘Yes. We want your brother trained. He will be good at missions, like your mother.’

‘Mum wasn’t good at them. If she was, wouldn’t she still be alive? Her spirit hasn’t even come to talk to me yet. I figure she must still be sad about the mission.’

‘You talk to spirits too, like your brother and mother?’ The woman is suddenly interested in me, staring.

‘No, she can’t,’ Jem says, stepping his foot on mine and applying pressure.

‘Ouch.’

Jem glares. ‘Go away right now.’

‘All right, all right.’

I move away with an exaggerated hobble and a loud sniff, feigning physical and emotional hurt. There goes Jem, protecting me again. He knows I have the language of the spirits. I’m better than him at it. Why didn’t he want the head of EASA to know? Isn’t it a good thing?

When we get home from the funeral, I wait until Jem is alone and ask him about Mum. He doesn’t want to answer me. I sense secrets. ‘Well? Do you talk to her?’

‘Yes,’ he says.

I look sad but sound angry. ‘Why can’t I see her?’

‘She doesn’t want you to. She doesn’t want you to get sadder.’

This I understand. I’m very upset that she’s died and not coming home. I nod. ‘Okay, Jem. Tell her I say hi and… and nothing.’

‘I will.’

A week later, EASA takes Jem away. The giant, large-handed men in their black suits arrive at our little apartment unannounced.

Dad lets them take him, though I know he’s angry—angrier than when Mum went away.

Still, he doesn’t try to stop them. Poor Dad. He doesn’t eat dinner or breakfast the next day.

Neath and I eat his share.

We’re sad Jem’s gone, but like with Mum, I can tell he wanted to go.

Because he’s only fourteen, Jem is allowed to visit home once a month for the first year of his EASA training. Dad cooks up a feast for these visits. We all love seeing Jem. Though EASA’s changing him. He is getting stronger and quieter.

On some of these visitations, he brings home a friend. His name is Cal. Cal has a carer family. I’m not sure where his real parents are but we know he doesn’t like his carer family, so he chooses to visit us on his day pass out.

Cal is shy and unsure of us at first. He regards us with large, brown eyes—such serious eyes. His hair is shorn, like all EASA personnel, but I can see it is dark and fine; a soft spread over an evenly shaped head. His face has fine features, with a nicely curved chin and boyish cheeks. It’s a friendly face, not imposing or cross or mean. I like that he’s taller than Jem, and a bit older. I pretend to be his little sister too, shadowing his every move and asking him endless questions about EASA, questions that nearly always go unanswered. Everything to do with EASA seems to be a secret.

Cal is sweet about it though. He doesn’t tell me to go away. He tells me some things, such as how physically and mentally hard the training is, how afraid he is that it will hurt when they enhance his hands and how much he’s looking forward to exploring in space.

I often find myself staring at his hands, horrified that one day they will be synthetically altered. His hands are exquisite with long fingers and strong, shiny nails. I tell him I wish he could keep his hands, that they are too perfect to enhance, and, in return, he compliments my hair that runs down my back to my waist. I notice he doesn’t praise the colour. No one ever does. It’s a mousey brown, boring colour. I wish it was something brighter, something richer, like caramel. I want to print-dye it.

I tell Cal.

‘What colour?’ he asks.

‘Green.’

‘Why green?’

‘I like plants.’

‘You want to look like a plant?’ He is laughing at me and I withdraw. I shouldn’t have told him.

‘Green will suit you,’ he says, his eyes settling into that serious regard that I like so much.

‘Next time you visit, it will be green,’ I promise.

‘I look forward to seeing it.’

Jem doesn’t like it when I talk to Cal. He always tells me to go away. He’s always trying to protect me from things I don’t need protection from.

‘I can look after myself,’ I tell him.

‘I know,’ he says. ‘I just…’

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t let EASA come for you. You need to study plants and become a grower. You should look for a soul mate, a hard worker to love and have children with. Have a happy life.’

I want to tell him that I’ve already found my soul mate, but I don’t dare. He doesn’t like it when I talk about Cal like that. Instead, I ask him, ‘Why shouldn’t I go to EASA? You’re there!’

‘It’s not safe.’

‘Why not? At EASA I can train my senses.’

‘Why would you want to?’

‘Because Mum said it was important.’

‘When did she say that?’

I reach over to Ray-Ray, our animatronic pet. Ray-Ray is part dog, part Panda. He’s all black except for large white patches around his big eyes. He’s never far from my side. I tap in a code at its collar to start a recording that I play often. It occurs to me that I have never played it for Jem and suddenly I want him to hear it.

Mum’s voice plays. ‘You have to understand, I have to do this. With technology becoming so complex and overriding ethical boundaries and our ever-expanding push into space, we have to develop our senses to their fullest potential. We have to evolve faster.’

The recording ends. I look up at Jem. ‘See it’s important to train. That’s what she meant, isn’t it? All right, she had been drinking, but I think she meant it.’

‘When did you record that?’ His face is pale.

‘The night before she went away. She was talking to Dad… more like arguing.’

‘I see. Well, yes, it’s right, it’s important to train, but you can train yourself. You don’t need EASA.’

‘If I go to EASA, I’ll be with you.’

Jem looks downcast.

‘You’ll be there, Jem?’

‘Sure.’ He looks away.

‘Jem, are you going into space? On a mission?’

‘Don’t tell Dad.’

‘You’re not going to tell him?’

‘No. The home visits will stop and he won’t know I’ve gone. I don’t want him worrying.’

‘Should he?’

Jem looks into my worried eyes. ‘No. Everything’s going to be all right. Though Britta?’

‘Yes?’

He lowers his voice to barely a whisper. ‘You know how we sometimes talk to each other in our minds?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper back.

‘Well, when I go, listen out for me, okay?’

‘You’ll talk to me? From space?’ I’m excited. Jem never lets me in on anything.

‘Shush. If I need to.’

I frown. Only if he needs to, not that he wants to?

‘And listen out for Mum.’

‘Mum? She doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ve tried.’

‘That’s just because she doesn’t want to upset you.’

‘I’m upset that she won’t talk.’

Jem smiles. ‘Mum has your best interest at heart. I love you,’ he says, and he sounds sad.

‘I love you,’ I say back enthusiastically. He walks away and doesn’t see my tears.

My big brother takes his leave. The visits stop. Jem and Cal don’t come again.

I print-dye my hair green and they don’t get to see it. Maybe one day…

Not long into the New Year, Dad gets a drone-delivered message from EASA.

I hear him yelling, ‘No, never, no. Not again. Not her. Not her too.’

I come into the kitchen where he is crying.

Dad looks up at me. His pale, papery cheeks and thick-set lips are wet with misery. He hurries over to sweep me into his arms, pressing kisses into my green hair. He is a tall man and bends to lift me to kiss the top of my head. I know that combination of sadness and anger and I know that my lovely, soft dad, with his slight build and long thin limbs, won’t eat tonight or probably tomorrow. I hope he will eat again, for he loves me very much and he’s already lost too much weight. I don’t want him to fade away.

It’s my turn to go.

Tomorrow I turn thirteen. Tomorrow they will come.

Our apartment may be no more than a concrete-walled cell, seven floors below ground, but it is my home. It’s all I’ve known; the only bed I’ve slept in, the only room I’ve called my own. I don’t want to move out.

Jem had told me not to let EASA take me. Yet I don’t have a choice. Didn’t he know there would be no choice?

Here, I have my dad and Neath and Ray-Ray. I love them all. I don’t want to leave them.

I want to stay and learn more about plants. I love our kitchen pantry, which has shelves crammed with lettuces, herbs, bell peppers, radishes, dwarf apples, and berries, all growing well beneath artificial heat lights. It’s my job to keep them healthy. I also work in an above-ground garden inside a small dome house. Anyone from our building can go there, but I only see droids come in to operate the water spray and other sprays, re-seed and pick things. I’m the only human doing that kind of stuff. I grow not only plants to eat, but flowers and shrubs, as they are so pretty.

It’s when I’m in the garden alone that I get brave and try talking to Mum.

Sometimes, I think I hear her, telling me when to stop watering, when to start pruning. She seems to like helping me with the plants. Maybe Jem was right. Maybe she has my best interest at heart and my best interest is gardening.

Perhaps that’s why I like green. Green gives me the strength to be with Mum.

Is EASA taking me because I told them I talk to spirits? I shouldn’t have told them, I see that now.

At least, Dad won’t lose Neath. They’ll let him keep one child. Neath isn’t like us. He can’t talk to spirits. He's lucky. He won't get taken and trained in all the things that Jem told me about; things such as astral travelling, psychic interpretation, psychometry, telepathy, as well as the science stuff, like interstellar warfare, planet exploration, space station technologies, rocket engineering, weapons deployment, and alien biology. Ironically, Neath is jealous. He wants to learn those science things. I don't.

Ah, here comes Dad with my birthday treat. He’s bringing it himself rather than letting the drone deliver it. We are celebrating now; the night before. We won't have my birthday together, so this pre-celebration is it. Thirteen. I don’t feel grown up enough for what’s ahead. If only I could be twelve again for another year or two.

Dad pours from a tall flask a dessert of soggy, sweetened bread into a large indent in the table and hands us each the ceremonial straws. His hands shake throughout the task. He is taking it hard; this last birthday before I go.

'There you are, Britta,' Dad says. 'Just how you like it, like Mum used to make it. Your mum would have been proud to see you all grown up.'

Neath sucks up the sweet at a fast pace, like it is a race. When he stops, his flabby cheeks wobble as he chuckles. ‘Not with the green hair!’

Dad comes to my defence. ‘I think your mother would have liked it. It’s very you.’

‘Yeah. You, like a cactus.’

‘That’s enough Neath. It’s your sister’s birthday and…’ Dad doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. We know what he means, that we don’t have much time left together. Neath takes the hint and tries to be nicer.

‘Your plants will miss you,’ Neath says.

It’s nice of him to say, but that thought makes me sad too.

Dad then steers the conversation and we talk for a little while about memories of Mum and Jem and of when we bought Ray-Ray.

Ray-Ray watches us with his exaggerated cuteness and non-smelling pant.

As I expect, Dad doesn’t eat his dinner or the ceremonial dessert.

At last, I go into my room and open my sleeping capsule. My silver sheet shines, catching the light from the illuminated ceiling. I climb in. Dad and Neath stand in the doorway, staring at me.

‘Good night, Britta,’ Dad says. ‘Try to get some sleep.’ He says this because he knows I won't. He can see how nervous I am.

‘Good night,’ Neath says too, which is touching, because he never comes to my room to say it. Ray-Ray’s tail is wagging behind them.

‘Thanks, Dad, Neath, Ray-Ray. Good night.’

They leave. The ceiling slowly loses its glow. Just before darkness claims the room, I look at my packed tube filled with everything I could stuff in it. Inside, carefully concealed is Gemma, my netwire doll. Once upon a time, it could answer questions with an inbuilt knowledge system, glow in the dark, and tell me the time. Now it’s broken. She's got long, matted hair and grubby arms and legs. She was my last birthday gift from Mum.

‘Goodnight, Mum,’ I say into the dark.

The next morning, three people clutter our tiny entry at the front door. Their eyes are covered in mirrored visors and their skins are coated in gleaming blast-proof fabric that showcase muscled bodies. So bulky are their builds and so perfect their stance that they could be machines. Maybe they are. Hard to know the difference sometimes.

Upon their bodies is a range of impressive weaponry; one long gun, one short; several explosive devices and a fold-out shield. I wonder if I’ll have to be weighed down like that one day.

'Britta Tate.'

I step forward with my tightly packed cylinder. I don’t say anything. My courage is failing. I couldn’t speak even if I wanted to. Not so, my inner voice. It’s screaming, no, no, no. Yet I squash that voice down too, like the stuff in my tube, pressing down, down. Quiet.

'We are here to escort you.'

'Goodbye,' my father and brother say formally.

They do this because they don't want me to make a fuss. They don’t want me to cry.

I nod at them.

With my long, green hair blending against my bright, shimmering green dress, I follow the officials with their weapons, their enhanced hands, their bulk, and their slick black suits. I know they will want me to become one of them and fall into uniformed line. But as my scrawny arms hug my cylinder against my chest, I doubt very much that that is going to happen. I’m too green, inside and out.