Doctor Who_ Beyond the Sun - Matthew Jones [66]
Very me.
I had a hunch that Emile wouldn’t have any objections to dragging up, but I wasn’t sure how Tameka would take to the idea. I was surprised by her enthusiasm. Fortunately for me, Tameka’s Krytell Stowaway has an extensive archive. My favourite era, the late twentieth century is particularly well represented. We’re doing ‘I Lost My Heart To A Starship Trooper’, ‘We Are Family’, ‘Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves’, and finishing with ‘I Will Survive’. It’s not going to be the most original drag cabaret set the universe has ever known but at least I already know the words.
We go over the top tomorrow.
Perhaps I should rephrase that.
We spent the evening having a bit of a celebration, drinking some rough fruit wine and trying out the costumes. We did a final run-through in front of Jock, Scott, Michael and Errol. They were impressed.
At least I think they were impressed. It might have been shock.
After that, I got a bit drunk and listened as Jock told us stories about Ursu before the Sunless came. Tameka remains extremely cynical about the possibility of a society without laws and took every opportunity to argue with Scott about it. It was that kind of teasing that people exhibit when they really fancy someone.
Made me think about Jason. I can’t stop wondering if we’re sleeping under the same moon.
Scott, true to form, started a debate about the ethics of profiteers, and we ended up following a sort of Ursulan tradition by writing down a sentence which defined our moral code. Apparently it’s important that we keep them close to us (although of course Tameka was quick to point out that she didn’t have to do anything). They take this sort of thing very seriously. Jock rummaged through the medical supplies and produced small plastic capsules on thin chains for us to use to keep our codes in. They’re usually used by patients at the hospital to carry daily doses of medicine. I stared at my blank square of paper for a few minutes before I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted to write. When I read back what I had written I felt tearful without knowing why.
I sat on the balcony on my own for a little while, toying with my strange new necklace, trying to prepare myself for tomorrow night. Emile followed me out a little later and lay with his head on my lap. In other circumstances his close crop would be cute. But looking at him in his grey uniform and big clumpy boots, I can’t help thinking of the news coverage I saw of the liberation of the death camps after the Galactic War. Emile looks like an entirely different person from the boy I met on Apollox 4. His carefully chosen clothes are lost, his bleached hair is gone, a line of tiny puncture marks are all that’s left of his earrings. I know these things are only on the surface, only superficial, but they make such a difference.
They’re the symbols of who we are.
I held his hand in mine – his fingernails are bitten down to the quick. I found myself wondering if that’s a recent bad habit. The back of his neck has caught the sun. The skin there is the colour of golden syrup. His complexion is completely unblemished. It’s as if he’d never been outside before.
An indoor boy.
If he is eighteen, I am Catwoman. And, as I believe we have already established, the Eartha Kitt one-piece is not mine.
Extract ends
13
FROCK TERRORISM
We don’t have guns, we don’t have knives, we don’t have identification papers, Bernice thought.
We have three posh frocks, padded busts (well, Emile and, um, I do), twentieth-century disco music and more slap than Arlon Jardolz’s Big Night Out.
‘We are going to die,’ she whispered to herself. But at least we are going to do it in sequins.
Below her, she heard Michael put the old and empty bus into gear. Standing on the roof, Bernice, Emile and Tameka were forced to hang on tightly as it shuddered and then