Crystal Force

by Joe Ducie

  ‘What should we do then?’ Irene asked. ‘This is kind of your thing, buddy.’

  Drake shook his head. Wish I knew … how the hell am I going to get back to London? And after that, what then? ‘A train out of here? Do you think we can get on without an I.D.?’ He looked at Irene.

  ‘You’re asking me?’

  ‘You’re Canadian.’ He kicked a brick wall with the toe of his boot. ‘This is Canada.’

  ‘I’m from Vancouver – which is on the opposite side of the country!’ She shrugged. ‘Will, I’m sorry. I don’t know. I’ve never been to this province before. We never had to have an I.D. in Vancouver, unless we were using the student discount.’

  ‘The Alliance controls the Tube in London,’ Drake said. ‘You can’t buy paper tickets like you used to. You need an Alliance-issued rider card, with your photo and everything. It probably tracks your bloody movements, as well.’

  ‘No, that’s what your phone is for,’ Tristan said. ‘But there are ways to hide, if you’re smart.’

  The street they were on seemed to be curving towards the heart of St. John’s. The crowds had thickened, and the outskirts of the city, with the apartment housing and the odd cash machine, had given way to strips of shops and taller buildings. There must be a train station around here somewhere. Drake kept his eyes peeled for a tourist information board or something. Suppose I could just ask someone.

  ‘Lot of cameras at train stations,’ Tristan said. ‘And I think the Alliance will be watching them carefully. Particularly now that they know we have money.’ He tugged at one of the straps on Drake’s backpack.

  ‘I don’t see another option.’ Drake had so far followed the web, the map in his mind that always saw a way out and that had got him and his friends off the Rig, but he couldn’t just stroll into an airport and book a ticket on the next flight home. An entire ocean between here and London … ‘Unless you want to walk.’

  ‘Walk where?’ Irene asked, voicing what they all wondered.

  A few light snowflakes fell from the sky, one tickling Drake’s nose. He stared absently at the flakes that melted on his woollen jumper. Where, indeed?

  ‘I’m getting a hot dog,’ he said. ‘Anyone want a hot dog?’

  He approached a roadside food truck, parked alongside the street opposite a supermarket with a large clock adorning its front. The hour had just struck four.

  ‘What can I get you?’ the man in the truck asked. He spoke English, but his accent hinted at French-Canadian.

  ‘One with the lot, please,’ Drake said. ‘You guys?’

  Irene held her stomach, and Tristan shook his head. ‘I’m too nervous to eat,’ Irene said, glancing over her shoulder.

  Drake shrugged and slapped a twenty-dollar bill down on the truck’s counter. The man handed him a white roll topped with mustard, tomato relish, onions, sauerkraut, and somewhere below all that, a beef sausage. The scent of the thing was maddening, and Drake scoffed it down in a few quick bites, mustard dribbling down his chin.

  ‘That was disgusting,’ Irene said.

  Tristan chuckled. ‘You inhaled it, mate.’

  ‘I’m still hungry.’ Drake shoved some of his change back across the counter. ‘Can I get another?’ The man in the van shrugged and set about his grill again. ‘And something fizzy.’ A can of soda slid back across the ledge.

  Drake popped the tab while the second hot dog was put together. He took three big gulps and felt the bubbles burn down the back of his throat. He winced and accepted the second hot dog. A little bit more care went into eating that one, as his leather gloves were covered in splurges of sauce and grease.

  ‘You OK?’ Tristan asked.

  ‘Just really hungry …’ Drake frowned and motioned them close. ‘I think – I think using the you-know-what takes it out of me a bit. That’s why I was being careful in the forest. Need to recharge my batteries.’

  ‘Want to try for three?’ the food vendor asked.

  Drake shrugged. ‘Think I could. One for the road, maybe.’ He slid across a few more coins from his change. ‘You know what, keep the change. There a train station nearby?’

  The vendor nodded as he stuffed a third roll with onions and mustard. ‘Newfoundland Railway over on Water Street. Two blocks over that way. Big thing the Alliance built a few years back. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘We’re looking to get back to the mainland,’ Irene said. ‘Over towards Quebec.’

  The vendor handed Drake another hot dog and rubbed at the back of his neck with a frown. ‘Hmm … well, you can catch the train tonight, probably, over to Argentia. But you’ll need to get the ferry across to New Brunswick or Nova Scotia. Or better yet, a flight from Bristol Field. Probably find a better route on your phone.’

  Irene thanked him, and Drake took the lead towards the train station a few streets over. His stomach grumbled, and he licked the sauce from his lips. The food had hit the spot, but he could’ve still gone another few rounds with the food truck. When you use the crystal, you’re burning through energy or something. Energy that seemed to replenish itself from an unfathomably deep ocean, locked away in his mind, but his body must have still been tired, worse for wear – even if he couldn’t sleep. What I need is some time to figure this stuff out. Before it kills me.

  The train station on Water Street was a modern glass building, several storeys high and built facing the cold windswept sea and St. John’s Harbour. Drake hunched his shoulders against the snowy breeze and glared at the harbour. Across the water, between warehouses and loading cranes, was the holding facility that shuttled staff and inmates back and forth between St. John’s and the Rig.

  Drake had the strangest urge to dive over into the harbour and swim back to the dilapidated oil rig in the middle of the Arctic Ocean – hundreds of miles away. An itch between his shoulders shivered down his back, and he felt watched. Not by cameras, the eyes of the Alliance, but by something far crueller and … angry. Something in the crystal. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts, but the itch remained, burrowing like a tick in the back of his mind.

  ‘We’ve almost come full circle back to the start,’ Tristan said, recognising the lay of the land across the harbour. ‘Bugger.’

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Irene said.

  ‘Somewhere that’s not this town,’ Drake agreed, as they entered the station through a set of revolving glass doors. He glanced up at the departure and arrivals board, just inside the expansive main foyer littered with fast food shops, bars, and small retailers. A steady stream of people, families, business folk in shiny suits, and station staff jostled for room in the foyer. ‘What’s leaving next for the coast?’

  Irene had already figured that out. ‘Five o’clock to Argentia. Platform Seven. The hot dog guy seemed to think we could catch a ferry from there.’

  A bank of self-service ticket machines ran across the polished marble floors. Tristan found a vacant one and flicked through a few screens, as Drake and Irene tried to look innocent at his shoulders. He shrugged. ‘Yeah, there’s some seats available on that one to Argentia. Oh, even a private booth in first class, but they want, like, five hundred …’ He glanced at Drake’s backpack. ‘Yeah, the machine takes notes. What d’you say?’ he asked, already pushing buttons and confirming the tickets. ‘Travel in style?’

  Chapter Four

  Pizza Delivery, No Pineapple

  With half an hour to spare before the train departed, the three of them sat at a small café near Platform Seven and tried not to glance up at the cameras on the wall. Irene bought water and biscuits for them all, and Tristan wandered off to The Source, an electronics store, with a wad of bills and a plan. Drake kept his head down at the table, doing his best not to look too guilty while avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

  I can’t run forever, he thought. But with the crystal power, I don’t have to. I just have to get to London. I can make Mum well again … he glanced at Irene. With her help, her healing power.

  Half an hour lat
er, the train departed the station on time, with Drake, Irene, and Tristan secluded away in the front carriage. The ticket inspector hadn’t spared them a second glance. The compartment was lavish, complete with a small refrigerator containing all manner of delicious snacks. Twin rows of racks for luggage sat above the seats, which folded out into full-length beds. A television screen was concealed in the arm of each foldout bed, and along the outer wall of the carriage stretched a clear window.

  ‘This definitely beats the Alliance’s idea of accommodation on the Rig,’ Drake said to his friends. ‘A few weeks makes all the difference, eh? Especially after that shack in the forest.’

  ‘A few weeks ago, you were bleeding to death on the floor of our cell after Brand gave you a beating,’ Tristan said. ‘Bloody hell, I was sure you were dying.’

  ‘I might have, if not for you.’ Drake grinned. He ran his tongue along his bottom teeth, over the gap. Brand had got him with a right hook and cost him a tooth. ‘And Irene, of course, slipping you those pills from the infirmary.’

  ‘Well, you’re welcome. But I reckon we’re even after what happened on the Titan. You saved us from going down with the ship … although it was kind of your fault it went down in the first place. Heh.’ Tristan paused, then considered, and flicked his ticket onto the spare seat by the window. ‘It’s a little under three hours to Argentia. Time to work.’ He riffled through his shopping bag from the electronics store and began sorting the tools and components he’d purchased on the table in front of him.

  ‘This almost seems too easy,’ Irene said, grinning from ear to ear and bouncing on the comfortable leather seats.

  Drake gave her a grim look. ‘We’re not away yet. The Alliance has caught me every time I’ve escaped. Granted, I couldn’t melt walls those times, but it won’t be too long – will it, Tristan? – before they know we’re on this train.’

  Tristan raised his palms towards the roof and shrugged. ‘Depends how cautious you want to be, Will. They might not know we’ve switched clothes yet, but they’ll certainly be sifting through all the footage from the train and bus stations. We might get stopped just because we’re three people travelling together, wearing hats and sunglasses, who bought last-minute train tickets.’ He sighed. ‘I mean, we might fool the camera algorithms – and I say might – but if anyone is actually watching the footage then … well, we stick out like sore thumbs painted neon pink.’

  Drake pressed his sore thumbs together. ‘Hmm … bother.’ He let his shoulders slump a little. ‘I really, really want to avoid a fight, but we can’t be recaptured. You guys know that, right? With what we know, the Alliance isn’t going to send us back to one of their prisons.’

  ‘They’ll kill us,’ Tristan whispered. He crossed his arms and glanced out of the window as the train cleared the station. Light snowfall was settling over St. John’s. ‘It’s getting dark.’

  ‘We could ride the train out to one of the smaller stations,’ Drake suggested, trying to follow the web a few strands further down the line. ‘Somewhere out of the way, rural, with no cameras. Change trains, maybe, throw them off that way.’

  ‘If we get that far.’ Irene bit her lip. ‘But Newfoundland is still one big island. We’ll need to use a ferry or something eventually. Oh, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘That’s just normal post-escape blues,’ Drake said. ‘I get them all the time.’

  Irene rolled her eyes. ‘That’s not encouraging.’

  Drake squeezed her knee and shrugged, stifling a yawn. ‘Ah, can you believe that? Haven’t felt tired at all and now … we’re comfy.’ He leant back in his seat and stretched his arms above his head. ‘Might see if I can drop off for a bit. Wake me for anything.’

  ‘I think he’s actually asleep,’ Irene said, about fifteen minutes into the journey to Argentia. She sighed. The knot of worry, wrapped around her heart, loosened a bit. ‘That’s a relief. He was awake for too long.’

  Tristan fiddled with the stolen search drone on the table, a mess of tangled wires and tools within arm’s reach. He glanced at Drake and then back down at his work. ‘So are you going with him?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘To London,’ Tristan said. ‘He hasn’t brought it up yet, since our escape, but that’s where he’s going, you know. All he bloody talked about in our cell, when I could get him to talk. To find his mother and help her, if he can.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Irene said, pulling her feet up and hugging her knees. She swayed slightly in her seat, to the motion of the train. ‘How would we get there?’

  Tristan shook his head. ‘Don’t tell him I said this, but we won’t.’ He shrugged and unscrewed what looked like a circuit board from within the drone. ‘And even if by some unholy miracle we manage to cross the entire North Atlantic and find his mum alive, she won’t be alone.’

  ‘The Alliance,’ Irene said.

  Tristan nodded. ‘The moment Storm reported our escape, the Alliance would have sent someone to watch her. We won’t get within a mile of wherever she lives.’

  If she’s alive. Irene cast a quick look at Drake, still asleep upright in his chair under that silly hat. ‘I don’t think they can stop him getting to her without …’

  ‘Without killing him, yeah.’ Tristan said. ‘Christ, two weeks ago he sank a supertanker and his body healed a gunshot, broken leg, and one helluva beating from Marcus Brand. Today he read your mind. What will he be doing tomorrow, Irene? Seeing the future? Shooting lasers from his eyes? Flying? What if he wakes up from his little nap and he’s Superman?’ Tristan pointed two fingers at Irene and shook his head. ‘Never mind if he’s insane or not, like Carl. Will he stay with us, you think? If he can just fly away? I don’t know if I would.’

  ‘He’d stay,’ Irene said, but her voice quivered and betrayed her worry.

  ‘What if …’ Tristan sighed and removed his glasses, cleaning the fractured lens carefully with the hem of his shirt. ‘What if he’s better off on his own?’ he whispered.

  Irene raised an eyebrow and glanced at Drake, checking that he was still asleep. His even breathing said that he was, but he was frowning, and his eyes darted beneath his lids.

  Bad dreams, she thought. I hope that’s all it is.

  ‘Are you saying you want to leave him?’ Irene asked.

  Tristan shrugged. ‘No, no, I’m not. But it’s only going to get more dangerous as the Alliance close in.’ He secured a panel on the drone and picked up a small screwdriver, waggling it at Irene. ‘And they are closing in, Irene. Like a noose around our necks, pulled tighter the harder he runs. All I’m saying is having Will Drake around is dangerous.’ He held her gaze for a long moment before returning to the drone. ‘That’s all.’

  You may not be saying it, but you’re thinking about leaving him. Irene squirmed in her seat and glanced at Drake again. What are we going to do?

  Drake awoke to find an Alliance search drone hovering in the air above the table. He cursed and jumped up in his seat as all vestiges of a rough, restless sleep washed away in an instant.

  ‘It’s fine – it’s fine!’ Tristan said, eyeing Drake’s gloved hands. ‘Don’t shoot. I’ve reprogrammed it.’

  Drake relaxed and rubbed at his forehead. ‘Headache,’ he muttered. ‘And a strange dream about … how long was I asleep?’

  ‘A little over an hour,’ Irene said. ‘But you tossed and turned a lot. Candy?’ She held a bag of colourful gummy sweets. ‘I swiped these from the little refrigerator.’

  Drake accepted one and popped it into his mouth. He stared at the hovering drone, the internal engines humming softly, and worried. The engines had a slight tick to them, skipping a beat, as if someone had recently damaged them with a bolt of magical lightning. ‘You sure that thing isn’t beaming our location back to the Alliance?’

  Tristan scoffed and tossed him something across the table. Drake caught it and eyed what looked like a complex circuit board, with dozens of little microchips coating its surface.

 
‘That’s basically the transmitter,’ Tristan explained. ‘Without that, the drone can’t report home unless I tell it, or receive any external commands from the Alliance. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.’ He tossed Drake something else.

  ‘What’s this for?’ Drake asked, gazing at a smart phone. He pushed the home button, and the screen illuminated with a handful of apps. ‘We can’t use these – they’ll be on us in seconds.’

  Tristan crossed his arms and smirked. ‘Not if we route the signals through the fluidmesh wireless network – the old microwave channels – on the drone. Pick the camera app.’

  Drake hesitated and then shrugged. He hit the camera icon, and the screen flicked to an image of … of himself, in his seat in the cabin. He glanced up at the drone, to the lens on its underside, and back down at the screen. The phone was receiving footage from the drone in real time. ‘OK, that’s pretty neat.’

  ‘I bought phones for all of us,’ Tristan said and gave Irene a look Drake couldn’t read. ‘In case we get split up or something. Numbers are keyed in.’

  Drake scanned his contact list and saw two numbers. Irene Finlay and Michael Tristan. That made him grin, how Tristan had used full and proper names. He likes the little details.

  ‘One more thing.’ Irene slid a piece of paper along the table to Drake.

  He picked up the slip – torn from one of the phone manuals, from the look of it – and saw a bunch of numbers. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Irene’s idea,’ Tristan said. ‘International dialling codes for London. Thought you might want to call home.’

  Drake froze for a long moment, considered, and then chuckled. ‘Blimey … after so long, it’s that easy? I can call home, just like that?’

  ‘Hell, you could post a status update about escaping from the Rig or take a selfie, if you want, but yeah – if you remember your home number,’ Tristan said. ‘I’d be quick, though. Routing the call through the drone means the Alliance won’t be able to tag our location, but they’ll be able to listen in if they’ve bugged your mum.’