Hope and Modo were sat in the hotel room in Sandstopper while the events of the party proceeded; Modo was afraid of loud noises and Hope was hardly in a party mood. She’d been thinking of the logs Gamma had played, about Ogilvy… And about how he was connected to her caretaker, Chip. He’d told her the story once before. It all happened four years ago…
——————-FOUR YEARS AGO, ABOARD THE SHEE ARK “AURORA”———————–
Chip tilted the brim of his trilby over his eyes to block out the artificial sunlight. He was waiting on someone. That someone was Ogilvy, a white-haired, straight-A student and the local “runt of the litter”. Chip was probably the only one willing to hang out with poor Ogilvy, since they were the top students of Aurora Ark Academy, the school for young scientists. When Chip finally saw Ogilvy, he was surprised; the sophisticated pretty-boy had a bandage over one eye, leaving only one of his bright blue eyes twinkling in the fake sunshine. Despite this, he still kept that little nervous smile he always had. Chip admired that; Ogilvy was bullied every day, sometimes all day, but he never let up that can-do spirit.
Although male, Ogilvy’s frame was distinctively feminine, which only worsened his teasing. He even got confused about his own gender sometimes. The Shee had said something about adding in a mixture of DNA from both sexes into his own, although Ogilvy seemed not to care. He sat under the oak tree of Metaroom Fourteen, next to Chip, and looked over.
“Why, fellow, dost thou feel the breeze in the room?” asked Ogilvy, an entire childhood of being dragged off to expensive Shakespeare plays taking their toll. Ever aristocratic, it was often Ogilvy’s odd and dated speech that drew him closer to people.
“Yer wot, Oggy?” was the cultured and meaningful riposte from a half-asleep Chip, whose background was quite the opposite. “What’s up with yer eye?”
“Alas!” whimpered Ogilvy, “for ’tis soon to be away from this earthly realm, struck by a blade of small stature and girth, encased within a plastic prison the likes of which-”
“Jonesy got you in the face with his ball-point pen, didn’t he?” translated Chip, “did me an’ all. Look,” he lifted his sleeve to reveal the phrase “CH1P ❤ PEN15” written in blue ink. “I hate him so much,” sighed the young Cockney.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Ogilvy nodded, dropping the Olde-Worlde speech in favour of a natural tone, “we must do two things. Firstly, have you sounding at least slightly respectable, and secondly, get back at Jonesy. Would you partake in a revenge scheme?”
Chip gave this a full minute of thought.
“Yea, verily,” he said at last, as the two friends walked back to their dorm, laughing. Back in the dorm, some very strange and hazardous new chemicals from the planet below had been packed up and stored in barrels to be researched later, and Jonesy had a lot of them. That night, Chip and Ogilvy snuck into the room where Jonesy slept. Chip pinned him down, while Ogilvy leaned in close to write something equally embarrassing, when suddenly…
The lights of the room came on, and Jonesy flung Chip to one side! He then grabbed Ogilvy by the neck.
“I KNEW YOUSE WAS COMIN’! FOLKS IS ALWAYS TRYIN’A GET THEIR OWN BACK AT JONESY!” he roared, “WELL, THEY AIN’T EVER GOTTEN THEIR OWN BACK! AN’ YOU AIN’T EITHER, YE FOOKIN’ TRANNY!”
Ogilvy was hurled at full force against the wall, knocking over some chemicals which seeped into his skin and stained his clothes. By now, half the dorm was awake, and the fight was broken up.
The following day was one of harsh punishments for all three of them, but it took a very dark turn exceptionally quickly. Chip was assigned to scrubbing floors, and he was doing just that, when he saw Ogilvy pinning something up. The something, once Chip realized what it was, made him sick.
Ogilvy had pinned a freshly skinned corpse to the bulletin board, and Chip could guess who it was.
“Ogilvy?!” he choked out, “have you gone nuts?!”
The white haired, gender-neutral former friend said nothing, but instead grabbed Chip and, rather forcefully, locked him into a French kiss. Chip’s muffled protests went unheard as Ogilvy continued, slipping off some of his own clothing while trying to grab Chip’s blazer and other garments to force them away. Chip resisted, pushing Ogilvy back.
“Oh, Choccy, you’re a very bad boy, aren’t you?” purred Ogilvy, seductively drawing out the pet name Chip had amassed even before joining the academy (“Choccy”, referring to “Chocolate Chip”, frequently used by Ogilvy).
Chip ran. Nobody could help him deal with this. Nothing could have prepared him for his best friend to turn into THAT. He fled the academy. A week later, the news reports came in. “Bloodbath at Aurora Academy”, “Sexually Explicit Murder In Space”, and so on. For the next three years, Chip ran, trying to escape, to hide away somewhere. He felt he was safe when the reports stopped. However…
Hope thought to herself, if Gamma’s logs mentioned Ogilvy… And the Ark had crashed… And the Geats worshipped him… And one of those Geats now knew where Chip was…