Helix Nexus

by Chris Lofts

  Sheltering behind the hoardings, Helix waited for a pause in the pedestrian traffic. His eyes had stopped watering. He didn’t wear sunglasses when it was dark as a fashion statement. Linked with his ocular enhancements, they distributed the augmented reality overlay across both eyes. On this occasion they had also provided protection against most of the capsaicin-laced spray, the remains of which he was still trying to get out of his mouth. He spat again, dabbing his fingers on the parallel scratches on his left cheek. The pepper spray was an old defence that, so far, technology had failed to better. He slipped through the gap, pulled the hoardings closed and turned towards the station.

  Back at the luggage lockers, he recovered his daysack, checked the nano-cams he’d left back at the building site and slipped out of the side entrance. ‘Phase three complete,’ he said, heading east. ‘All quiet there?’

  ‘All quiet,’ Sofi responded. ‘You have approximately 7 hours until dawn.’

  He picked up his pace. His objective was 5.4 miles away, estimated walking time: 1 hour 49 mins. ‘I should be on location in around 90 minutes.’ He tightened the straps on his daysack and bent himself to the task.

  Forty-five minutes later he entered Southwark Park from the north. Pausing beneath a horse chestnut tree by the bandstand, he sipped from a bottle of water. Fat drops of rain clung to the branches. Reaching up, he tugged at a twig unleashing a deluge, a trick he’d learned from Jon which in turn he’d handed down to Ethan. The happy memories were made more vivid by the smell of autumn riding on the breeze. It evoked other memories he’d sooner have left forgotten. His destination was a blend of both. Stowing the bottle, he pressed on, the towers of Canary Wharf looming over the treeline.

  Doubt and guilt bloomed in his chest in equal measure. It felt like the Meridian and the Observatory were cursed. If he hadn’t persuaded Ethan to set up there, none of this would be happening. Gabrielle’s gift of the Observatory was generous, but they didn’t belong there. She’d been right about the scientific community. They had huffed and puffed but hadn’t got over it. The destruction of the landmark would only bring more rancour. It would be rebuilt, but not by them. The next 12 hours were critical. Gabrielle was safe, for now. Ethan was the priority.

  The prime meridian marked the eastern edge of the Thames memorial garden. Out of sight, the river gave away its presence with the low tide tang of stale water as Helix approached the Greenwich hyperloop terminal. The rhythm of life had slowed with the passing hours. Last orders were taken and served, the restaurants and bars began to empty. Clustered around the entrance to the hyperloop, the pavement pushers struck the last of their deals, eyeing Helix as he invaded their space. A pair of potential clients weaved their way towards him. Helix arched an eyebrow as he waited for them to connect their mouths with their brains.

  ‘Apache?’ the guy slurred. ‘Scooby?’

  ‘No. No,’ his girlfriend whined. ‘Jet. Ask him if he’s got any jet.’

  Helix held his hands up. ‘Sorry, folks. I’m out of everything. Try my friend over there,’ he said, nodding towards a dealer on the opposite side of the entrance.

  ‘Watcha standin’ there for if you’ve got no gear to sell?’

  Helix leaned into his ear. ‘Minding my own fucking business,’ he whispered.

  The guy swayed away, hands up in surrender. ‘OK, OK, no ‘ffence meant.’

  Catching him by the shoulder, Helix pulled him back from the edge of the road, reattached him to his girlfriend and steered them on their way.

  The dealer reeled them in with a pearly white smile. With their order fulfilled, he dispatched them with a wave and a cheery goodnight. The smile slipped from his face as he turned towards Helix. Looking nervous or frightened didn’t come easily, but Helix did his best. He bit his lip and tugged at his jacket collar before turning and striding away. The dealer took the bait. The side exit of a bar Helix had passed a few minutes earlier was around 25 yards back. Helix paused. His pursuer didn’t. Helix broke eye contact, turned and walked towards the alley. It was a dead end, but that was fine. It was away from the street and unlikely to be under surveillance.

  He quickened his pace. The dealer matched it. Three yards out he bolted, making a drama of slipping as he rounded the corner. Hands raised, he backed deeper into the alley. ‘I don’t want any trouble, fella,’ he said. ‘I’m not competing.’

  The dealer closed in. ‘That ain’t what it looked like to me,’ he said, a knife held low in his right hand.

  Helix anticipated the thrust, his eyes fixed on the weapon as it arced upwards. Clamping his hand over his assailant’s, he pushed the knife up and away, grinding the dealer’s knuckles against the wall. His right fist connected with the man’s chin. A snap kick hit him in the groin. It was over. The knife skittered across the damp paving as the dealer collapsed. Helix snapped open a halo-cuff and pressed it to the groaning man’s temple.

  Dragging his prisoner to his feet, Helix assessed his height. He would do. He wasn’t sure about the snake-skin boots but he hadn’t got time to be fussy. The cuff glowed in the shadows, the man’s eyes glassy and distant. ‘Put these on,’ Helix said, pulling Wheeler’s coat from the rucksack. He topped off the disguise with the fedora, covering the halo-cuff. ‘Do the coat up.’ He pulled the collar of his own coat up and moved to the end of the alleyway. ‘OK. You need to walk alongside me and keep up.’

  Reserved for the scientific elite and other dignitaries, the footpaths inside the Meridian were deserted. Helix and his mute sidekick skirted the northern edge, pausing in front of the historic Queen’s House. Invisible to the naked eye, the ruins of the Observatory lay 400 yards to the south on the horizon. Switching to night vision, Helix surveyed the devastation. The only distinguishing feature was the distorted onion-shaped dome. Laying in a narrow gap between the pile of rubble, glass and steel, it rested against an oak tree. A quick switch to thermal revealed no heat signatures. The only thing moving was a marching flock of agribots that mowed the lawns and manicured the gardens. ‘I can’t see anything much moving,’ he said. ‘Are you picking anything up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Sofi replied.

  Helix sighed. ‘OK. I’m going up.’ He nudged the drug dealer forward onto the grassy slope. ‘You all set?’

  ‘I’m ready. Do you know what you’re looking for?’

  ‘I’ve got a reasonable idea. It should be enough.’

  Their route took them to the eastern edge of the ruins. They headed for the small circular patio known to the world as the venue for the wedding of the century. That of Doctor Gabrielle Stepper and the then-rising political star, Justin Wheeler. It was the same place Helix had drunk coffee in the morning before facilitating Wheeler’s denouncement and arrest. Apart from a covering of dust which the rain had turned to a grey sludge, the patio and pagoda remained intact, the debris field from the explosion falling short. He parked Wheeler’s body double at the edge of the patio and began pushing at the mud with his boot. He yanked a piece of wood from the rubble and scraped the stones clear, exposing the brass band that denoted the line of the prime meridian.

  ‘They’re here,’ Sofi said into his ear.

  Helix ignored the information and crouched. Extending the blade from his prosthetic hand, he scraped at the gaps between the stones, trying to free one. A piece of reinforcing bar from amongst the debris substituted as a crowbar. He slipped one end into a gap and pushed down. The stone moved. He froze. Looking up, he noted a subtle movement in the shadows. They were there too. He went back to work. The stone shifted. He drove deeper, teasing it up. Crouching forward, he slipped his hand inside his jacket taking the grip of one of his guns. In a single fluid movement, he drew the gun, rolled over his shoulder, crouched again and fired three shots into the dark.

  He pivoted, fired again, his target the source of a laser dot on his chest. He shoulder-charged the drug dealer, taking his knees out. Sheltering behind a low wall, he pressed the dealer to the ground. Two more lasers pasted their dots on his chest. He
turned towards them, aimed, squeezed. The dots multiplied with each shot. He pulled his second gun, the first one spent. More shots. More beams. More dots. How many of them were there?

  He was outnumbered and low on ammo. He rose from behind the low wall, dragging the dealer with him. Caught in a web of red beams, he tossed the gun to the ground. The first stun burst hit him in the left thigh, dropping him to his knees. The second, to his shoulder, put him on his back. He stared up at the stars as he caught his breath. Turning his head towards the sound, he blinked in the half-light. What emerged from the dark was not an armed troop, but eight of the articulated agribots that he’d observed earlier tending the lawns and gardens. Their integrated weapons recalibrated their aim as they closed in. He nodded at the ingenuity. Hidden in plain sight. What, or rather who, followed was not so easily missed. The bots made a gap in their perimeter allowing the tall figure to pass through.

  The red beams of the lasers formed a mesh across the reflective surface of the full face helmet. With his massive hands on his hips, the bot master stared into the hole Helix had made in the patio. The demeanour, movement and size suggested a male, but Helix was prepared to be wrong. The masked figure stepped towards the drug dealer and knocked off the fedora. The tossing of the head suggested a silent laugh. Taking a step back, they pulled a weapon and shot the drug dealer in the face. The headless corpse fell backwards behind the low wall.

  Helix stared into the unblinking eye of the gun barrel now trained on him, his own face reflected in the black visor of the person pointing it. Two bull-like jets of breath vented from the underside of the mask. Folding upwards, the visor revealed a thick black beard, broad nose and the steely eyes of Sean Archer: personal physician and butcher to Ulyana Lytkin.

  Helix exhaled. ‘Phase four complete. Going dark.’

  34

  10 Hours

  Hooded and handcuffed, Helix stumbled forward. Straining his ears, he listened for any indication of location and time. His own shambling footsteps across a polished floor and a faint hum of what could have been ventilation were the only scant clues. The mute Archer had given nothing away as he bundled him into the vehicle and removed the PCM from his calf. Robbed of his augmentations, any attempt to estimate elapsed time had fallen victim to the thoughts of what lay ahead.

  A sound, like a deep breath, ushered forth the sanitised smell of antiseptic and carbolic. The scent sparked memories of convalescence, the months spent in hospital recovering from his injuries. A more recent memory of that same odour caused him to pause. A push propelled him onto his knees and then onto his face. Pain exploded in his lower back as his captor pinned him with his knee. The cuffs were released, the hood snatched away, the door slammed and locked.

  The numbness in his arms dissipated as he squinted in the light. He rested for a moment on his elbows. Black had become blinding white; the floor, the ceiling the walls. Crawling forward, he rolled onto his backside and leaned against the wall of the empty box. A narrow vent overhead breathed a silent draught of cool air.

  The scarcity of fixtures and fittings suggested a holding cell, perhaps a brief stay. If his plan had played out the way he intended, Sofi, in the shape of Gabrielle, would be somewhere there too. But what about Ethan? Where was he? Given Lytkin’s apparent proclivity for theatrical group torture, he was as certain as he could be that Ethan wouldn’t be far.

  He’d been gagged and bagged for the entire journey. Although he remained conscious, he’d gleaned nothing about his location. The featureless box he now found himself in, offered no further clues. A shimmer across one of the walls drew his attention, like a breath upon water, ripples radiating outwards. He rolled onto his knees and up to his feet. He paused, his head tilted, listening. With his PCM absent the faint hum in his head must have originated from elsewhere. The hum became a buzz, growing in intensity with each step closer to the wall, announcing its presence. Flattening his palm, he offered it up. A hot red reflection expanded as he splayed his fingers, the hum more staccato, a rattlesnake warning. Keep away. He snatched his hand back, forward, back again. He’d seen something similar. It wasn’t solid, but it was as impregnable as any wall and a lot more lethal.

  He turned his eyes upwards, ears straining in anticipation. Had he heard something or was it sixth sense? Somebody on the line, but silent. He exhaled letting the idea go. Leaning back against the wall, he bent his knees and slid towards the floor. Upon contact, the liquid crystal molecules contained within the smart glass rearranged themselves, rendering the opaque walls and ceiling crystal clear.

  Gabrielle. He crossed the cell, the tension loosening as he reminded himself again that he was looking into the eyes of Sofi.

  The AI folded her arms and nodded. Helix gave her a visual check. She was undamaged. The moist eyes showed an appropriate level of concern given the situation. She pointed to her cheek. Helix mirrored the action, his fingers glancing over the parallel scratches he’d acquired earlier. He shrugged. He needed to be on top of his game as much as she did. Pressing his hand to the glass, she did the same, her hand tiny in comparison.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Gabrielle,’ he said for the benefit of those listening.

  She smiled and mouthed the words: ‘You did your best.’

  He pulled away, his hand flapping at his side.

  Although now transparent, the front wall retained its buzzing threat. A menacing familiarity filled the space beyond. The seat, with its sinister array of instruments that had contained him during his previous encounter with Lytkin, was the same, now reclined and angled towards the three cells. A free standing metal rack stood to one side of a pair of double doors. His breath caught in his chest. Amongst the other paraphernalia lay Ethan’s stubbies. Was he wearing them before? Helix replayed the foggy images from the last time he’d seen his brother. When he was manacled in that dungeon. Why were they on that rack? He hadn’t missed the deadline. He was early. Movement behind the frosted rear wall snatched his attention away. Two silhouettes. One speaking, the other nodding. Helix clenched his fist, needing no further clues beyond the height, build and beard of the one on the left. Archer. The other shape suggested a woman. The deportment conveyed confidence, maybe arrogance. An accusatory finger wagged in the fog at the unmoving giant. If his life wasn’t already at stake, Helix might have wagered that it was Ulyana Lytkin. Holograms didn’t cast shadows or silhouettes. Her hubris would be her downfall.

  The rear wall transitioned into what Helix assumed was a one-way mirror throwing back reflections of himself and Sofi. The white-coated Archer took his seat at a control panel in the back left corner separated by a curved partition.

  Turning to the back wall of his cell, Helix flexed his arms and legs, frustrated at the heaviness down his right side, the darkness in his right eye. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said, hammering the glass. ‘Get a fucking grip! We can do this.’

  ‘You can do what exactly, Major?’

  Helix snapped around, his eyes meeting those of Anastasia Sachman. ‘You again. Let me guess, you’re the warm-up act.’ Pushing away from the wall, he glanced past the hologram. ‘Or maybe she’s got stage fright?’

  ‘As I said before, I work very hard to maintain my anonymity.’ The holo folded her arms. ‘Hello, Gabrielle,’ she said, flicking something from her sleeve. ‘Ulyana Lytkin, Valerian’s sister. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same,’ Sofi replied. ‘He never mentioned—’

  ‘I’m pleased.’ The holo nodded approvingly. ‘He wasn’t meant to.’

  ‘Did he know you were alive?’ Helix interrupted.

  ‘Of course, he did.’ She pursed her lips. ‘The original plan didn’t work out as expected. We had to adapt, but things turned out rather better. Up to a point. Until you, your brother, assorted others and dear Gabrielle…’

  ‘So much for plans. Shit happens eh?’ Helix said, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Where’s Ethan? Why are his stubbies on that shelf? I did what you asked. Gabrielle is here, let
him go.’

  ‘He’s quite safe,’ she replied, nodding over her shoulder at Archer. A holographic screen floated into view.

  ‘So release him then.’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘If you remember, I said that Archer wouldn’t begin Ethan’s metamorphosis until you were back. ‘Look. Here he is. He’s getting to know Dmitri.’

  It was better than the last time Helix had seen him, but only just. ‘Strapped to the floor?’

  ‘Dmitri likes a challenge. It’s good for his mental health,’ she added, pointing to the screen. ‘The partition between them is held in place by the bar that Dmitri is gnawing on. It’s made of collagen and calcium phosphate, bone to you and I, but much stronger. It’s a by-product of artificial meat production. They always leave a few scraps and sinews attached to get him interested. He’s not eaten since you were last here.’

  Helix gathered a couple of deep breaths. ‘I want proof of life.’

  ‘You’ll have to trust me, Major.’ The holo sighed, dismissing the screen with a swipe of her hand. ‘Believe me, you’ll know he’s alive when Dmitri gets through that bone.’ She glanced towards the control room. ‘It normally takes him between 45 minutes and an hour. That’s right, isn’t it, Archer?’

  Archer nodded.

  Helix ground his teeth. ‘I’m warning—’

  ‘They’ve been watching the video of what we did to Dmitri.’ Her tongue flicked over her glossed lips. ‘Over and over and over. With the sound.’ Her eyes flared. ‘Very realistic. Almost as if you are in the same room.’

  Lunging at the wall, he staggered as it responded with its characteristic fizzing warning. He thrust his fist towards it. ‘You’re sick!’

  She smiled and turned away as Archer emerged from a side door. Wheeling an upright stand with IVs and a monitor, he made connections and repositioned the chair parallel with the three cells and the rear wall. The instruments surrounding the chair unfurled like the tendrils and petals of a salivating carnivorous plant, light glinting from their edges and teeth. Archer and the hologram exchanged glances. A shake of the head from Archer answered an unspoken question. With his preparations complete, he returned to the control room.