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There was an alert as the Chief sent a message to the computer on his wrist, Harry lifting it up and tapping at the touch panel.“Alright, we have our orders. We’re to proceed to hangar seventeen and board a waiting shuttle that will take us to the control hub. I’ve been sent access codes and a map of the service tunnels. Fuck me, it’s like a maze in there...”“I may be able to help with navigation,” the ambassador volunteered, “I have a good sense of direction. My home was a similar maze of tunnels, after all.”Harry made his way over to the back of the room, where the panel that led into the service tunnels was still removed, leaning against the wall beside the opening. He pulled up the access code and tapped it in, the door that lay behind it opening with a whoosh.“This way, Ambassador,” he said as he gestured to the gloom that lay beyond.“Honorable Ambassadors, if I could please have your attention,” Moralez shouted over the roar of the torus. They were standing just outside spoke. Ruby couldn’t care less about the thorns stabbing her hands and face. She forgot about her runaway puppy. She did care about the dead man swinging in the wind, dangling from a poplar tree. Many years ago, Ruby had been a Sunday school teacher. She seemed to remember the crucifixion cross was hammered together from two lengths of poplar wood. The rope creaked again: a tortured sound. From where she had landed on her bony behind on the sloping riverbank, she stared up at the pendulous corpse. The moon hung behind him. He was a dark cut-out against the sky. A broken puppet on one string. Ruby could not see his twisted features but her nightmares filled in the gaps. He stared out of the darkness. A swollen face, a lolling tongue, and above all his familiar grey eyes, bulging in silent accusation. ‘Oh Harold.’ * The trees clawed at the sky like a skeleton’s hands, they tore holes in the sunset until only the night remained. Half an hour later, as if overcome by the syrupy blackness, the.
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