Living Hell Read Free

meant. For all Dygall’s noise, he had never actually built a flame thrower. Nor had he sabotaged a mimexis program, or designed his own search-and-destroy robot. As I said, he liked annoying people. And one way of annoying people is to challenge their most deeply held beliefs.
    No one would have been allowed to join A Crew if they had regarded violence as a solution to anything. Naturally, Dygall’s attitude worried everybody. As for Dygall, I think he enjoyed all the extra counselling he received for his destabilising tendencies. He always did like to be the centre of attention.
    ‘For my party,’ he suddenly declared, ‘I want an historical set piece. The Battle of Waterloo or something.’
    Merrit rolled her eyes.
    ‘Oh, I’m sure the little ones will love that,’ I remarked.
    ‘The little ones won’t be allowed in here,’ said Dygall. ‘It’ll just be me and you and . . . I think you should come, too.’ He nodded at Merrit. ‘You’re obviously bored.’
    ‘Is that so?’
    ‘I can tell by your hair. Only a person who’s very, very bored puts so much time and effort into a hairstyle.’
    Merrit had long, straight, black hair, which she wore in a complicated pattern of fine plaits. I think her mother used to arrange it for her. When I saw Merrit flush, I knew that Dygall had gone too far.
    Merrit was rather sensitive, you see. She couldn’t laugh things off – and she didn’t know Dygall all that well. She didn’t understand that he would say whatever popped into his mind. He was never intentionally cruel, I don’t think. Just tactless and impatient.
    ‘You’re a good one to talk about boredom-related hairstyles,’ I said to him quickly. ‘How long did that lunar landscape on your own scalp take you to finish?’
    Dygall put a hand to his head. ‘Next time,’ he replied, in tones of deep satisfaction, ‘I’m going to leave bits. I’m going to write my name in my hair.’
    And that was when reality intruded. Even as Dygall spoke, Firminus opened the chamber door. He approached Haemon’s father, and they exchanged a few words.
    Suddenly, the program faded. We were all left standing in an empty beige-coloured compartment.
    ‘I’m sorry, everyone,’ said Firminus in his calm, dry voice, ‘but we’re going to need this chamber. We have to run a few charts.’
    The little kids groaned. Merrit and I frowned at each other. Firminus worked in Navigation; he wouldn’t have interrupted Haemon’s birthday party to run a few star-charts unless our course required urgent analysis.
    ‘Do you need me, Firminus?’ Merrit inquired.
    ‘Not at present, Merrit, thanks all the same.’ Clearly, Firminus wasn’t prepared to give us any more details. ‘I apologise for the interruption.’
    ‘Oh, we were nearly through,’ Haemon’s mother replied. She sounded genuinely unconcerned. ‘Haemon’s had a great time, haven’t you, honey?’
    Haemon smiled shyly, and nodded. Like his mother, he was very sweet-natured. And he didn’t know enough to be worried. None of us did, at that stage.
    We didn’t realise it was the beginning of the end of everything.

CHAPTER
TWO
    Dad didn’t come back to our cabin for supper that night.
    We always used to eat supper together, if we could – Dad, Mum and me. Mum was very firm about that. Even though we could have ordered our rations from any food dispenser on Plexus, she insisted that each evening meal should be a ‘family’ one. Looking back, I can see why. My parents were busy people. They were both Senate members. Dad was on the Navigation Executive Committee. Mum filled an identical role for MedLab. Unless they had a firm schedule, and stuck to it, family time was likely to slip away from them.
    Back then, of course, I didn’t really appreciate this. Family life didn’t interest me. I was seventeen; when I turned eighteen I would receive my own cabin. Not a family cabin (the family cabins were always quite large), but a cabin nonetheless. Sloan Molyneux,