by Peter Tylee
“Every move.” Junior saw no sense in lying. “We have cameras. We watch all new acquisitions until they’re accustomed to their surroundings.”
“So you were just going to let him rape me?”
Junior almost laughed. “Don’t be daft. I was the one who stopped it, remember?” He took a step toward her.
“Stay back or I willstab you.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Junior took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I want to help you, but first you have to help me.”
“How?”
“Give me thatfor starters.” Junior offered an outstretched hand, willing her to surrender the weapon peacefully. “If you give it to me I’ll make things go smoothly for you here. Without help it’ll be a nightmare.” He checked his watch. “Esteban’s already on his way, I woke him when you got into trouble with Edward, but if he walks in now there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Why’d you call him?”
“He wanted to know if you got into mischief,” Junior replied smoothly. “He wants you protected.”
“I see…” Jen said slowly with a crease on her forehead. “Until Dan turns up, right?”
Junior’s silence told her all she needed to know. On the surface, Junior would say he was willing to help, but he was incapable of delivering. Unless he lends me his chip.She took a chance and lunged, the icepick aimed deftly at his throat. If it connected, she knew she’d have time to continue stabbing him until he stopped breathing.
Surprise registered in Junior’s eyes a fraction too late to avoid the blow entirely. He twisted to one side and bashed her forearm with a defensive move, something he’d learned in primary school karate class that had worked into his reflexes. He wasn’t a skilled fighter, but the block was effective enough to save his life. The tip of the pick plunged agonisingly into the fleshy muscle on the side of his neck, well clear of major arteries and critical nerves. His skin split when the thick base of the pick entered the wound and it bled profusely, showering his shirt with a river of sticky red.
The sensation of pick piercing human flesh was a memory Jen would rather have done without. The feeling repulsed her and she fought the impulse to drop the handle. She jerked her arm back and retreated, waiting to see what would happen.
Junior predictably clutched his messy wound, ferociously scowling at her and cussing through clenched teeth.
“You see.” Edward was pushing to his knees, the pain in his testicles having subsided to a dull throb. “I told you the silly cow was a bitch.”
A sticky trail of blood trickled down the pick and coated Jen’s fingers, making her weapon even harder to grip. It made her ill and she wondered whether she’d have the tenacity to dig out Junior’s spine. “Stay back.” Now it was two against one, hardly good odds. She swallowed her fear and planted her feet firmly on the carpet, ready to lash out at the first person to come within striking distance.
Junior was trying to reassure himself that his would wasn’t fatal. The pain throbbing from his torn flesh was blindingly intense and a gong-like scream for revenge went off in his mind. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Jen reworked the grip on the icepick, daring him to step closer. She brazenly stepped an inch forward, threatening to stab again if they didn’t back away. It was gratifying to see two large men backing away with fear clouding their eyes.
“No, you really shouldn’t.” It was a familiar voice and she turned to see Esteban waltz into the room. He levelled a pistol at her and calmly invited her to drop her weapon. “You want to put that down now?”
“I’d rather not,” she replied, staring at his gun. “You’re not going to shoot me.”
“Oh no?” Esteban smiled sweetly. “That depends how much you irritate me.” He secretly enjoyed watching her stand there, fist coated in blood. It thrilled him in ways that Michele and Claire were incapable of.
“You need me alive.”
“Yes, but just because I shoot you doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll die.” Esteban cocked both eyebrows. “How much do you like your kneecaps? I’ve heard it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to have them shot off.”
Just standing in the same room as such a monster revolted her. “Fuck you.”
Oh, you will.“Later perhaps.” He enjoyed the jolt of fear that thought evoked in her. “Now be sensible and drop the icepick. What do you think you’ll achieve against the three of us anyway?”
Jen wasn’t sure anymore, it just didn’t seem appropriate to surrender voluntarily. “Tell me one thing first.”
“Okay, what?” Esteban couldn’t see the harm in entertaining her for a while.
“How do you get away with this?”
Esteban was intelligent enough to understand to what her question pertained. “You’re all sanctioned apprehensions that have, shall we say, slipped through the cracks. Every now and then, someone gets lost in the system and ends up here.” He looked around. “Have you asked yourself why nobody’s bothered organising a revolt? They have nowhere to go. If they leave here, the only place they’ll end up is prison. Your friend, Claire, she’s a killer. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”
Jen felt the determination drain from her body and she knew she was moments away from defeat. She wasn’t yet ready to release hope, but neither was she ready to give Esteban an excuse to kneecap her. She tossed the icepick aside.
“Good.” Esteban waved at Junior and he reluctantly took his gore-drenched hand away from his neck to grip Jen’s arms and twist them behind her back.
Esteban tucked his gun into its holster and drew a needle from his pocket. He used his teeth to remove the protective plastic jacket and spat it to the floor.
“Oh no, please…” Jen wriggled but Junior held her fast. “You don’t need to use that.”
“I beg to differ,” Esteban replied with a tinge of malice. “You’ve woken me up once tonight already and I’m sure Junior would like to visit the hospital. This is my insurance.”
“I’ll be good, I promise, please.” Jen watched him draw the clear liquid into the syringe and flick it to remove the air bubbles. “No, don’t.” Her voice was getting shrill.
“Shut the fuck up,” Esteban commanded. “Or I’ll dig out your vocal cords.” He prompted with his eyes, deliberately tempting her to test him. “Have you ever seen a set of vocal cords?” He waited until she shook her head, muted by the threat. “Well they’re really quite fascinating, so if you’d like an impromptu anatomy lesson just go ahead and keep screeching.”
Jen bit her lip when he inserted the needle, standing as still as possible to minimise the damage to her surrounding tissue. He injected the blend of drugs with somewhat less than a surgeon’s precision and although it was less painful than the previous time, it still hurt.
She was sobbing when he retracted the chilly syringe and they walked her back to her room. Her vision was already fading by the time they laid her on her mattress and the last thing she heard before blissful unconsciousness snatched her was Junior complaining about the gash in his neck.
*
Saturday, September 18, 2066
International Portal Terminals
20:08 Sydney, Australia
Dan couldn’t believe his luck – or lack thereof, depending on how things went. He checked his watch. Damn, Chuck, what sort of hours are you pulling?Christopher Delaney was at his usual counter, validating international travellers. Now what?It made things tricky. If he picked anybody else’s counter Chuck would be suspicious, but if he went through Chuck’s counter, he would know Dan’s chip was fake. Dan had changed and tested his new identities twice in anticipation of international travel. Both tests had proved successful – nobody had suspected he wasn’t Tedman Kennedy and Brent Bertrouney. Either that or they didn’t care to look surprised.The chip selector currently displayed Tedman Kennedy and he’d spent half an hour memorising details such as the birth date, blood type and medical history of the persona. It would be disastrous to forget who he was pretending to be.
Dan sighed and ran a hand over his face before pushing back from the table and striding confidently towards Christopher’s counter. “G’day Chuck, how’re things?”
He smiled warmly. “Hey Dan-the-man-from-Afghanistan, not too bad. You?”
“I’ve seen better days,” Dan admitted sombrely. “Say, what kind of freakazoid hours are you working here?”
“Yeah, I know, it’s my turn for night shift.” He sighed and blinked sleep from his eyes. “A ten day rotation every three months. It sucks, but it comes with the job.”
“When do you get off?” Dan asked.
He checked his watch in the hope that time was passing quickly. “Not until the morning guys get here, around eight. But after my rotation I get a five day break so it’s not too bad.”
Dan grunted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“So where’re you off to this time?” Christopher asked, indicating he should step closer for the mandatory scan.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a favour,” Dan replied vaguely.
“Sure, name it.” Christopher didn’t even flinch. They’d developed a friendship over the past few months. Or, at the very least, he’d call Dan a close acquaintance. He passed through the terminal every few days and always had time for a chat. Recently Chuck had joked that he would have a ‘most-frequent traveller’ award printed and framed especially for Dan. And a month ago they’d gone for beers and watched the rugby final at the local watering hole.
“It’s not entirely legal,” Dan said, testing the waters. He nervously wondered whether their friendship was strong enough to support the tremendous weight he was about to place upon it.
“Whoa there big boy.” Christopher held up his hands. “Don’t ask me to do something that’ll get me fired. I thought you were going to ask me to water your plants or something.” He paused, gauging Dan’s reaction. There was none. His stoic mask only betrayed his discipline. Curiosity eventually got the better of him. “What is it?”
It was Dan’s turn to study Chuck. Trust was a luxury he didn’t have, so he had to be very careful divulging information. “Somebody I know is in a lot of trouble.” Dan started slowly, cautiously choosing every word. “For now, just tell me what has to happen to let someone pass on a fake chip.”
Chuck huffed. “It can’t be done.”
“You’ve never looked the other way?” Dan asked, angered beneath his calm surface. Since when did you become so sanctimonious?
“Shh!” he hushed. “Not so bloody loud mate.”
“You won’t help?” Dan asked flatly.
“I didn’t say that,” Christopher replied slyly. “What’ve you gone and gotten yourself mixed up in?”
“If I’m alive in a week I’ll tell you over a beer.”
“It’s that bad, huh?”
Dan nodded solemnly. “Yeah, it’s that bad.”
“Must be time you considered a new profession then.” He smiled. “We’ve got an opening if you’re interested. I could talk to the boss?”
“Pass.”
Christopher sighed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” He would’ve liked to have someone interesting to share the monotonous night shifts with. The others were okay, but they were into computer games and were always talking about sorceresses, paladins, swords and armour. It drove him crazy. “Just so I’m clear, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?”
Dan nodded slowly, wondering whether Chuck would blow his plans asunder. He had one hand in his pocket, ready to press ‘next’ and revert to his legitimate identity if things turned sour.
“And I assume you’ve got a good reason for wanting your name off the records?”
Dan nodded again, more warily than ever.
“Come on then, let’s get this over with.” He offered his scanner and Dan stepped forward, brushing past the compact handheld device, which looked similar to a barcode-reader. It communicated briefly with the chip in his pocket and fed the relevant details to Christopher’s monitor. Meanwhile, Dan lined up his weaponry for tagging. Christopher watched as each piece of Dan’s arsenal emerged from the folds of his clothing. He uttered an oath under his breath, something that Dan couldn’t quite catch.
“Very well Mr Kennedy,” Chuck intoned formally. “Have a pleasant trip abroad.”
“Thanks Chucky, I owe you one.” Dan holstered his weapons.
“No, you owe me two. Kegs. No, make it two bottles of scotch. The good stuff.” Christopher smiled. “Just make sure you bring your ass back alive so I can collect, you hear?”
“Loud and clear.” Dan walked away before a queue banked up behind him. It was a busy time of night, the last minute rush before most Australians wanted to be home in front of their televisions or making love to their partners.
He looked over his shoulder on his way to the portals, reassured to see Christopher wasn’t making an emergency call to his supervisor and requesting police involvement. So Dan joined the short queue at the nearest international portal. Several large signs requested that travellers check their destination codes before joining a queue. It was annoying when somebody in front reached the portal and realised they didn’t know their destination code. Fifty dedicated code-terminals indexed the codes for all international destinations, but Dan didn’t need them. When he reached the front of queue, he stepped inside the white circle and he entered the code he’d thoroughly memorised.
The portals were impeccably hygienic, cleaned at regular intervals to PortaNet specifications. They looked like large tubes. Users stepped inside, made sure they were within the white safety circle, and dialled the destination code on the provided panel. There was an identical panel on the outside of the tube so that a second person could operate the portal on behalf of the traveller. The elderly and ‘special’ members of the community had been so dumbfounded by PortaNet’s invention that engineers had added the extra panel to circumvent the problem of training the untrainable. The company was already spending billions on public education; they’d simply considered some people too slow-witted to comprehend the new technology.
Dan had only a vague idea how portals worked, but he’d always thought the process lacked flare. There was no white flash, no sparks, and no melodramatic countdown, just a pop of changing air pressure.
A gust of cold North American air slammed his face when his vision shifted and the customary tickle in his lungs made him cough. He stepped out of the tube, thumped a fist to his chest to ease the discomfort, and headed toward United States Immigration. I hope this goes smoothly.American immigration was a lot larger than Australian Immigration so he didn’t know anybody well enough to cause a problem. I hope.But since America used a two-tier system, he had two counters to pass: immigration and customs. He gulped in anticipation.
But twenty minutes later he’d navigated the chaos of travellers and was standing in the chill of the North American autumn, gazing at UniForce headquarters. A dire hatred consumed his inner thoughts and he was prepared to tear the jugular from Esteban’s throat if he had half a chance. One year ago he wouldn’t have believed himself capable of transforming into a blood-lusting killer. Yet there he stood, comfortable with the thought of bereaving Esteban’s family.
He watched for security and coldly calculated his best opportunity to enter the building. He wasn’t sure what he’d achieve at 2:30 on Saturday morning, but he wasn’t content to do nothing. Jen’s time was running out and if there were even the slimmest possibility that he could
save her, he’d keep trying.
Something in there will help me find Esteban… and Jen.He had to believe it or he’d lose what remained of his fragile sanity. A digital scope, no bigger than a pen, helped him peer through the night. He was squatting in a nature strip that ran the length of the grime-smattered street. Massive buildings loomed on all sides and he couldn’t help thinking it was unwise to tempt gravity so excessively. Human engineering was good, but nature could swat once and splatter the buildings like pimples. It would only take one decent earthquake. He didn’t believe the rhetoric fed to the public about earthquake predictability, nor could he swallow the commercials he’d seen for the anti-vibration systems installed in modern skyscrapers. It simply wasn’t clever to build them so enormous, especially when portal technology made the logistics of transportation so easy.
The concrete monstrosities spewed fluorescent light as if electricity was free and the light pollution was so bad that, despite zero cloud cover, Dan couldn’t see a single star. Using a portal was out of the question; security locked them down at night. Only a small subset of authorised microchips could portal in, and security monitored that activity closely. But Dan had never navigated through UniForce headquarters on foot and he screwed his eyes tight trying to remember on which floor he’d find the management offices.
He shivered from cold and praised his thick coat.
Standard patrols guarded the building’s perimeter, a few men at most. Inside there would be more, perhaps 50 – far more than Dan could handle alone. He wouldn’t want to assault the building even if he had a platoon as backup. UniForce guards were well armed and portal technology ensured they could react quickly to trouble. That leaves stealth.He chewed his lower lip, picking his moment. When a host of factors had aligned in his mind, he stood, ignoring the discomfort when his knees cracked in protest. Then streaked across the road and darted into UniForce territory.