Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

“Help!” she cried again. “We’re running out of air! We need help now!”

There was a pause, then a woman’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice said sadly. “It is not my place to intervene.”

“What!?” exclaimed Ravana. “Mayday! Help, please!”

She heard no more. It took all her remaining strength to climb to where Artorius and the greys were huddled near the airlock door. In the dim light she could see Artorius’ flushed skin. Nana fumbled near the airlock controls, while Stripy lay still.

“Forgive me,” Ravana whispered. The voice in her head was forgotten as she pulled Artorius close. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She fell to the floor beside him, each convulsing breath more shallow than the last. Finally, there was nothing more to do than close her tear-soaked eyes.

FELICITY FORNAX, the latest young and fiercely-ambitious recruit to the Weird Universe team of roving reporters, sat on the edge of her hotel room bed and scowled at the flickering images on the holovid unit in the corner of the room. The British Broadcasting Corporation’s Five Systems News was reporting on the archaeological dig from its studios on Aram, which despite being on the other side of the star system from Falsafah was still a lot closer to the action than most other news crews had managed to get. Weird Universe , the quirky arts and entertainment news programme, was a show with big ideas but an embarrassingly-small budget. Hence Fornax was here, in a tatty suite on the third floor of the laughingly-named Paradise Hotel in Newbrum, tasked with putting together a piece on the Bradbury Heights University archaeology department, instead of at some well-appointed campsite in the Arallu Wastes reporting on the excavation itself.

The University however was being strangely tight-lipped. Meanwhile, the Dhusarian Church had released a baffling statement protesting heavily against the sacrilegious looting of holy relics, with a warning that activists would do their best to sabotage the expedition. Yet there was another story, one of secret flights from Falsafah to Ascension and of alien artefacts on the local black market. Fornax would much rather be in the Tau Ceti system, reporting on possibly the biggest story of all time, but if she could not be there then she would take whatever scoop came her way. The discovery that her enhanced-reality network visor did not work in Newbrum just meant that her research would have to be done the old-fashioned way.

Feeling hungry, Fornax pulled her dressing gown tighter and pushed a length of black hair out of her eyes. She had a bottle of wine cooling in the sink and was just contemplating ordering room service when there was a quiet knock at her door.

“Who is it?” she called. She was not expecting guests.

“My name is Philyra,” came the muffled voice of a teenage girl. “Can I talk to you?”

“Apparently so,” Fornax murmured, getting up from the bed.

The room was so small it was only two steps to the door. A peep through the spy hole revealed the skinny and pallid features of a dark-haired girl, dressed in a cheap summer frock of metallic blue. Her visitor looked harmless enough and Fornax opened the door.

“Hi!” said Philyra. The girl gave a bright smile. “Miss Fornax? Could I interview you for our school magazine? We don’t often get holovid stars in town.”

“A holovid star?” Fornax smiled. Newbrum was more of a backwater than she thought if they bestowed celebrity status upon someone like her, an ex-presenter of Cosmic Cooking and reporter for the equally obscure Weird Universe . Now she saw her visitor properly she was struck by how much the girl reminded her of a younger version of herself. With a sweep of her hand she invited Philyra inside. “Fine by me, kid. Make yourself at home.”

Philyra entered the room and hesitantly looked for somewhere to sit. Fornax reached for a panel by the door and pressed the control to convert the bed into seating. The bed began to retract upon itself, gave an almighty groan and shuddered to a halt. Philyra looked at her, shrugged and gave the bed a good solid kick with her boot. The bed lurched into motion again and collapsed into the reassuring shape of a sofa.

“Newbrum’s like that,” Philyra said, sitting down. “Nothing works properly.”

“So I see,” murmured Fornax. “Care for a drink?”

She felt Philyra’s eyes follow her as she retrieved the bottle from the sink, cracked it open and poured two generous measures. Fornax had brought a few bottles of Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir with her from Los Angeles, having been warned off Ascension local brew.

“I am only fifteen,” Philyra pointed out, but took the offered glass.

“In this business, being young is an asset, not a crime,” replied Fornax. She sat down beside her. “So you’re a reporter? And you want to interview me for your school paper. That’s very sweet.”

Philyra blushed. “Actually, no. I want your help.”

“My help?”

“I want to be a holovid presenter, just like you,” Philyra confessed. Fornax smiled and waited for the pre-prepared speech, for the girl was trying her best to stop the words coming out in a mad rush. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do! I’m here because I’d like you to take me on as your assistant while you’re in Newbrum. I’m quick to learn, really keen and don’t expect you to pay me. Unless you really want to,” she added hopefully.

Fornax smiled and let the moment drift into silence with a lingering sip of wine.

“That’s quite a pitch,” she said, as Philyra began to fidget. “The answer’s no.”

“I could get inside information,” offered Philyra. “I know students at the dig.”

“The answer’s still no, kid.”

“I’m not totally clueless. I have broadcast experience!”

“Really?” Fornax raised a surprised eyebrow. “That’s cool. What exactly?”

“I was at the Epsilon Eridani peace conference on Daode late last year,” Philyra told her. “I did an undercover report on the plot to brainwash Raja Surya.”

“That was you?” Fornax remembered a political journalist friend of hers getting quite excited at the time. “Maybe you do have what it takes. You say you know people on site?”

Philyra nodded. “A girl named Ravana,” she said, then blushed. “And a boy called Xuthus. He’s from Bradbury Heights.”

“A boy, eh?” Fornax smiled, seeing the girl’s sudden coy expression. “Not that I’ve been directed anywhere near the dig itself. I’m down to interview some professor at Bradbury Heights and maybe do a bit of digging of my own into these black-market artefacts. I don’t think you can help me with that. Do you know anyone at the university?”

Philyra pulled a face. “That bunch of fat heads? They’re all rich, stuck-up Americans who think they’re the centre of the Universe,” she retorted, speaking with venom that took Fornax by surprise. “Xuthus is the only one who speaks to me as if I’m human.”

“And he’s on Falsafah,” reflected Fornax. “So you don’t have any useful contacts?”

“I have a friend at the spaceport,” Philyra suggested cautiously. “One of the ground crew. If there’s any strange deliveries coming into Newbrum, he would know.”

“Is that so?”

Philyra shrugged. Fornax was pleased with the information, albeit unaware Philyra was thinking of Endymion, who would probably be the last person to notice anything odd happening around him and so laid-back he could fall asleep pushing a broom.

“A spy in the spaceport,” Fornax mused and smiled. A spot of investigative journalism was just what she needed to restart her stalled career. “If there’s one thing I could teach you, it’s that this business is not about what you know, but who you know.”