Road to Abaddon

by Vincent Heeringa

“I didn’t see anything.”

  “You know, what? I’ll let you into a secret. Not everything in Metricia is what it seems. Do you remember when I came to visit you in the Academy, we spoke about forces from within that spread rumours, forces that try to destroy our unity. There are some things that happen, people who do things, that aren’t approved by the High Council. We can’t control everything. Is Abaddon one of those things? I’d like to know, because then I could do something about it. I could do something about your, um, friend. What was her name? Nassim?”

  Jonah stared at GK. How did GK know about Nassim? It was a trap. He needed to confess, just to get GK of his case. But he felt sure now that he couldn’t tell GK everything.

  “You’re right,” said Jonah, almost under his breath. “I saw a lab.”

  “Okay, thank you. What was in it?”

  “Lab stuff, machines, vats with tubes and wires and stuff. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t stay long because people were coming.”

  “And then you saw the prisoners?”

  “Yes. I climbed on the roof and heard them below, in the courtyard.”

  “And you saw nothing else?

  “No.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, promise upon my mother’s grave.” The lie hurt. But he felt boxed in; the truth felt impossible.

  “Okay Jonah. I’m going to check out this Abaddon, and one day I might tell you what I discover. Meantime, I’m going to send you back to your division and you can carry on with real task: finding the scum who killed your father. You do remember that mission, don’t you?”

  Jonah nodded. So much had happened, he’d almost forgotten.

  “But you need to do something for me. You need to forget about Abaddon. You need to wipe it from your memory. And you most certainly need to forget about your little mutant friend. Not a word, not even a thought. Deal?”

  GK held out his hand. Jonah had no choice except to shake it, but he bristled. GK was toying with him, examining his loyalties. Jonah felt sick. He had to expose Abaddon. He had to save Nassim. He’d expected GK to fix it all – instead he got a lie. There was so much more to Abaddon than Jonah understood. The words of Sergeant Clunes replayed in his head: that the corruption of Metricia started at its head. He was unsure what that meant, but the one thing he knew was that Nassim remained in danger in Abaddon and if GK couldn’t be trusted then he needed another plan altogether. And he had to do it quickly.

  “GK?”

  “Yes, son?”

  “I know Eva will be anxious to see me. And to be honest, I’d like to see her. Can I go home before I head back to training?”

  GK stroked his chin and smiled. His grandfatherly tone returned. “I think it can be arranged.”

  Chapter 15 - Visiting the Baptistes

  Jonah was surprised to see Grace climb aboard the hoverpod to Nuevo Madrid. It wasn’t her home, and the squad was still in Minoa. Still, it was great to see her. After Jonah did his disappearing act, Walshe had gone into a frenzy, sending out a whole platoon of guards and questioning Grace at length about what they knew about the son of this famous family.

  “You’re trouble, Salvatore!” she smirked, poking him in the chest. “They’ve sent me to keep you company.”

  Jonah laughed – it felt good to be back with her. Though it wasn’t the same. Even when he arrived at the terminal and Eva greeted him with a hug, the thought of Nassim’s fate nagged him. It was hours before he could slip out of the garage of the apartment and ride Fury to the only person he really wanted to see, Tria Baptiste.

  The evening traffic was at its peak and he was forced to weave through jams to reach Gijon, the district of artsy cafes and students flats where the Baptistes lived. Jonah had never felt comfortable here.

  She was sitting as he’d requested, alone with a coffee, beside a pillar that allowed generous views down Gijon’s main street, Calle Alacala. Her long, red hair fell over her shoulders. It was a warm evening and she threw a cardigan from her shoulders and put the cup to her lips.

  For years he had suspicions about Tria and her father. Far too many plants for his liking – and a dog for goodness sake! Now, with his world crumbling, Jonah saw the Baptistes anew. Perhaps as his only hope. He stepped off the footpath and was about to negotiate the traffic when a figure caught his eye. A woman, twenty metres to his left, mimicked his step then ducked behind a tram. Grace! She’d followed him.

  “Feng it!” he exclaimed. So, she really was sent to ‘keep him company’.

  He glanced at Tria and then picked out what he thought could be two Scion agents walking the Alacala. Nobody that straight walked these streets. Whatever Jonah had seen in Abaddon had made him a marked man. He turned his back on Tria and stepped into a side street then sprinted to the next corner, buying enough time to buzz her on his fone: Followed. Plan B.

  OK, came the reply.

  Jonah leapt onto a passing tram but Grace had already anticipated his move and raced down a parallel street. As the tram gathered pace she jumped onto the backboard, determined to keep up with him.

  “Hey, Jonah, wait up!” she called, trying to sound casual. They locked eyes and for a moment it all seemed a little ridiculous. Days ago, they shared a Landers’ prison, now they were playing a game of secret agents on a tram. She pushed her way through the packed aisle, while whispering instructions into the communicator on her wrist. Jonah could see the agents now, flying after them on a hoverbike. This was getting serious.

  The tram lurched around a corner, tipping the passengers into Grace’s path. It was his chance. He jumped through the open door and rolled onto the paved street. Passengers shouted in surprise.

  The bike was almost on him, so Jonah sprung up and gave the agents the kind of sideways nudge that he’d perfected in rushball, sending them sprawling into the oncoming traffic. A sickening thud and blare of horns confirmed that Jonah was now in far greater trouble than ever before. He sprinted to the bike and spun it around just in time to see that Grace had pulled the emergency stop and leapt from the tram in pursuit. Sirens rang. The police had joined the fun. With automated patrols on every block and twenty-four-hour satellite surveillance there was nowhere to hide on this tiny island.

  Jonah sped at full tilt towards Tria’s home, crashing into a hovering polibot sending sparks and shrapnel into the road. He threw the bike into the oncoming traffic and weaved a path away from Grace, then spun sideways across the footpath, tore up someone’s lawn and skidded into a park near the Baptiste’s house. He hid the bike in some plastic shrubbery and stood still to catch his breath.

  Hoverpods were approaching overhead and polibots would have been pouring into the district. Scion was coming out in force.

  There were just twenty metres to the Baptiste’s door, but it meant a dash across the open street. Better sorry than late, Jonah thought and he sprinted through the evening gloom, jumped the gate in one leap and pounded on Tria’s door. Time stood still. Sirens echoed across the park. Finally, it opened and a male arm pulled him inside.

  “Jonah Salvatore! What are you up to?” said Juan Baptiste.

  “A big bunch of trouble,” puffed Jonah.

  Tria rushed down the hallway out of breath. She embraced him. The dog growled.

  “They’re following me,” said Jonah. His eyes were wide and his heart beat hard.

  “Let’s get in here,” said Juan and ushered them into a tiny room under the stairs. The door sealed with a hiss and a low light flickered on. “We’ll be safe in here for a few moments. It’s, shall we say, secure.” Juan tapped the walls and Jonah could see they were made of a dull metal; he guessed lead.

  “You better tell us what’s going on,” said Tria.

  Jonah looked at them for a moment, contemplating the depth of the trouble he was in. He wasn’t even sure they could help.

  “Jonah?”

  Here goes, he thought. “If I said the word Abaddon, would it make any sense to you?”

  Juan looked blank and waited a long
time before he replied. “Go on.”

  “If I said that someone’s got a lab, somewhere in the desert and that they’re creating mutants in vats, would you believe me? If I said that there’s some kind of mutant army being created by Metricians, would you think I’m out of mind? If I said that everything we’ve been taught about Landers being backward and cruel and infected is a lie, created to keep us in a state of fear and war, would you turn me over to Scion?”

  Jonah spoke fast, like a madman confessing a murder. He looked from Juan to Tria. This was it. His future as a traitor, spent in jail or on the run, hung on this moment.

  Juan glanced at Tria and ran his hand down his beard. “What would make you say such an insane thing?”

  “Because I’ve it seen with my own eyes, Senor. We crashed and were kidnapped and, well, it’s a long story and look, I’m taking a risk here. I’m sorry I’ve got you in trouble. I just kind of imagined ...”

  “Imagined what?”

  “Well, I tried to tell Grace and she said I was mad for even worrying about it. ‘Landers are mutants, mutants are Landers. Get over it,’ she said. I thought my grandfather would want to know too. But he sedated me and tried to deny that he knew anything about it. But that was a lie! He lied to me!” Tears welled in Jonah’s eyes and the hopelessness of his situation began to overwhelm him. “I didn’t know who to turn to and I thought that you might know, or want to know, or want to help. You’ve always been a bit different.”

  “Different?”

  “Yes, I mean, you’ve got animals and plants and, well, crazy rooms like this. And I know how much Tria hates the army. That makes you different, from me anyhow.”

  Juan sighed. “Even if I did believe you, what exactly would you have me do?”

  Jonah took a deep breath and laid out his last card. “A sergeant back in the Academy told me something that I couldn’t understand at the time. He said there’s a sickness growing in Metricia and that Petreus had been fighting it. It was weird at the time. But I think I understand it now. I think that it’s Abaddon. He said that when it was time I would be called and the answer to the call was a word.”

  Jonah paused.

  “Do you know what the word is Senor Baptiste?” he asked.

  Juan closed his eyes and left a long silence before he whispered it like a confession: “Concordia.”

  Chapter 16 - Down, down, down!

  Jonah fainted. The weight of his knowledge and the terror of the chase had fuelled a kind of mania. Now he felt the world melt around him.

  They sat him on a tiny cot and pulled an oxygen mask from a cabinet.

  “Concordia is a code word for the resistance,” explained Juan. “Like it or not Jonah, you’ve joined the New Metricia Army and the course you have chosen has consequences. Do you understand that? It means you cannot go back. It means you’ve forsaken your family and your home. It means that you must leave here tonight. Are you prepared to do that?”

  Jonah nodded. He was exhausted and upset, but never more convinced of anything.

  “Then there’s something we must do, and I’m sorry but this will hurt. Tria?”

  From a small roll of cloth Tria produced a scalpel and an old-fashioned hypodermic needle.

  “Look down, please.” Juan jabbed the needle into Jonah’s neck sending a fiery jolt into his shoulders. “Steady. It would hurt a whole lot more without it.”

  Juan then dug into Jonah’s neck with the scalpel and produced a bloodied, plastic disk, the size of a coin. “You’ve being tracked since you were born. We all have. Well, some of us. Metricia is data dictatorship. But congratulations, you’re off the grid.”

  Juan gave Tria the disk and she inserted it into a little drone. “We’ll send this out to get them off your back,” she said and slipped outside. Blood dribbled down Jonah’s shoulders. He drank the oxygen and tried to think. This was beyond madness.

  “You say that I’ve got to leave Nuevo Madrid, tonight. But that’s impossible unless you’ve got a hoverpod with military clearance.”

  “I’ve got better. Follow me,” said Juan. He opened the door and led Jonah along a timber hall to the back of the house which opened into a vaulted, glass conservatory filled with ferns and coloured tropical flowers. The room echoed with the squawks and chirrups of birds. Reptiles draped themselves over branches in a glass terrarium and a wire cage housed a small spider monkey, which bared its teeth at the humans.

  “Forgive the smell. Messy little beggars,” said Juan leading Jonah into a dense tangle of shrubbery. As he parted the last of the fronds Jonah stood in front of a red rectangular box, just taller than a man with a single door at the front and windows on all sides.

  “I know this!” exclaimed Jonah, laughing out loud. He ran his fingers over the old wooden frame and opened the door with a metallic click. “It’s a ... a ... oh, don’t tell me ... it’s ...”

  “A telephone box,” smiled Juan. “An authentic telephone box. I found this in the old New Zealand. I was there as an archaeologist and discovered a collection of Twentieth Century architecture, all still intact. This was the smallest structure I could carry back home. Cute, isn’t she? And, here, look at this.” Juan pointed to a large black machine, with a silver dial and a handle that lifted from a metal cradle.

  “A telephone,” whispered Jonah, caressing the heavy device in his hand. For a moment he was transported to another time, aged nine, when Eva took him to the Victory Museum near the Quad. She’d dragged him around, trying to describe how people used to live, before the Collapse. Jonah thought it was dull, all that history sitting behind dusty glass. Now the elegant black handle felt weighty with significance, a message from another era.

  Tria jolted him back. “The cops are outside. It’s time to go.”

  “Go where?” asked Jonah looking around.

  “In there,” instructed Tria, pointing at the booth. Jonah saw she was wearing a backpack. Whatever they were going, she was coming! His heart gave a little leap.

  Juan hugged Tria and Jonah noticed now that was he was crying. “It’s time, my love,” he said. “I know your parents would be proud. You’re ready. Be brave.” Tria whispered something into Juan’s ear and then she was inside the box, her backpack pushing against Jonah’s chest.

  Juan wiped the tears from his eyes and clicked the door closed. “Okay, dial six-four-five-two-eight and be prepared for a sudden jolt.” Her fingers trembled as she dragged the ancient dial around but eventually the eight clicked into place and a whirring sound came up from below them. Suddenly the floor gave way and the entire box plummeted down, forcing Jonah’s stomach into his mouth. He almost passed out as he saw Juan’s feet disappear. Blood blew up into his head and made his feet feel numb. He tried to scream but couldn’t get any air out of his lungs.

  It was hard to tell if the box was gaining speed but Jonah was sure they were in free-fall. It felt like minutes had passed and all he could think about was just how this flying prison was going to stop – and with what terrifying results.

  Just seconds into the fall the box braked hard, crumpling the pair into the floor. Light rushed up to greet them and the elevator slowed and then stopped with a heavy groan, bouncing a little, like a yo-yo. Jonah groaned and held his head as gravity pulled the blood back out. His fingers tingled with pins and needles.

  The door opened and huge hands reached down and pulled them both out of the box into a bright chamber. Tria stood up unsteadily, rubbing her temples and laughing as if she’d just got off a theme park ride.

  “Phew, I always wondered what it would be like!”

  A man with enormous forearms stood with his hands on his hips. He wore a large leather coat and a belt, studded with cartridges. When he stepped forwards the handle of a pistol snuck out from his waist. Jonah examined his face, half of which was covered by circular welder’s goggles. Then with dismay he saw the familiar distortions of a mutant.

  “Here we go again,” he groaned.

  The mutant flicked up the goggl
es on steel hinges to reveal one good eye and the other, a white lump shot with blood like a poached egg. Jonah prepared himself to be kicked or dragged or whatever else the mutants of this underworld did to their Metrician victims. Juan had betrayed them. This was no secret army, just another hideout for Lander bandits. He started to crawl back to the phone box when the mutant spoke: “Welcome comrades! I’m Helmsman Alfonso Fernandez. But you can call me Al. There’s not much time, so if you’ll please follow me.”

  Jonah sensed a trick, but Tria smiled and followed after the mutant and disappeared around a corner. A heavy door whinnied on rusty hinges and a waft of salty air blew over Jonah’s face. Zero deck! he thought, and scampered around to see the mutant standing in front of a gaping hole with the patchwork of Nuevo Madrid’s basement floor above and the black ocean, fifty metres below.

  “You’re next!” shouted the mutant, pointing to Tria who was vanishing down a thin, steel ladder. Wind whipped up salty froth as the water crashed against city pillars far below. Tria was disappearing into a mist.

  Jonah obeyed. Taking hold of the topmost rail, he turned his body and made a first tentative step onto the thin, steel rung. “Well, then? Shake a leg,” said he mutant, and slammed the door with a resounding thud.

  Fifty metres is a short distance on a hoverbike and even on foot. But climbing, rung by rung down a ladder, while dangling above a raging sea, makes for a long and frightening journey. Jonah dared not look down. This time there’d be no drones to save him.

  ◆◆◆

  From the view of the submarine waiting to meet them, the three climbers were just silhouettes against a grey ceiling. “Go tell the captain!” shouted a sailor who looked up from the turret.

  Captain Scotty McDough was pacing the bridge of the Nautilus when the intercom crackled. “Birds are landing, captain. Repeat, birds are landing.”

  “About flamin’ time!” growled McDough. “Have we been detected yet? A full day bobbing here like a cork in a pond – I’m amazed we haven’t been shot, stuffed and put on display in the Victory Museum!”