Free Aurora by David A. Hardy Page A

going to see Granny Petrie, who was in an old folks’ home and wasn’t long for this world, her Mum said. Her grandmother often didn’t even seem to know who they were. Stevie quickly got bored with these visits, and often got into trouble—like the time when he stuffed the ancient Mrs. Blenkinsop’s ear trumpet full of tobacco from Mr. Wallis’s tobacco pouch. And had been about to light it when their mother noticed and hastily grabbed it from him. So Mum hadn’t really objected when Stevie—or Steve, as his dignity now preferred him to be called—had claimed a prior arrangement to stay overnight camping out in a tent in the garden with his friend Duncan.
    A big car—a Daimler, Aurora recognized from a previous car trip with Stevie, who’d kept up a running commentary on all the vehicles they passed (there weren’t that many in their part of Scotland in 1950)—was waiting in a side road for them to go by.
    No! It wasn’t waiting. It was turning directly into their path!
    Aurora saw her mother’s foot jab at the brake. Too late. They ploughed into the side of the Daimler, slewed across the road. A horsebox, coming in the opposite direction, caught them a glancing but violent blow. The noise was terrible. They lurched to an abrupt stop in a ditch.
    Her mother’s head had gone through the windscreen, and the steering wheel was embedded in her chest. There was blood everywhere.
    Aurora realized that some of it was hers....
    * * * *
    Aurora blinked tears from her eyes and shook her head. She must have suppressed that memory all these years—and no wonder. She had believed until today that she had come out of the accident without a mark, whereas she knew now that she’d had a broken arm, internal injuries and many cuts and abrasions. She had been in hospital for only two weeks, but while she’d been there the news had been broken to her, none too gently, that she no longer had a mother. Or a grandma, for Granny Petrie had passed away on the spot upon hearing of the death of her favorite daughter-in-law.
    Of course! That had been the beginning of Aurora living in homes, and running away from them, and becoming generally wild. But she remembered that, before she’d left the hospital, the doctor had commented that she was lucky to be alive, and expressed amazement at the speed with which her injuries had healed.
    That hadn’t been the only occasion, either. Other incidents now came to mind—like the time she had plunged a hand into the synthesizer at that strange concert. She couldn’t remember why she had done it, now, but she could still see the shower of sparks, smell the burning flesh, see the startled and horrified look on Lefty’s face, eyes white and wide in his dark face. She should have died, with full mains voltage passing through her—but she hadn’t.
    She saw now that it had been only a matter of time before this ultimate test was reached. And, if she hadn’t been on Mars, out of reach of Earth’s modern medical techniques which could in all probability have re-attached her old arm, she might still not have discovered the truth—or passed the test.
    Aurora mopped her brow with her left hand. The memories had left her drained and trembling. She needed a drink—but there wasn’t any booze here. Perhaps something medicinal, though?
    No. She banished the thought. She was surely old enough to know better!
    * * * *
    Somehow the media back on Earth got to hear about Aurora’s arm. The crew had agreed to keep the information quiet, at least for a while, until they were quite sure what was happening, but someone must have leaked it. Accusing glances were cast about the small base. Who among them had a secret but lucrative contract with the TV and videomedia companies? Bryan Beaumont was the most likely suspect, as he had worked as a journalist for Nature and other scientific journals and popular e-mags.