Skybreach (The Reach #3)

by Mark R. Healy

“Which is?” Zoe said.

  Duran shrugged. “That’s something we’re going to have to figure out.”

  4

  Charles Prazor stood at the window and watched the shadows of murky grey clouds drift over the city of Link far below, dappling the orange landscape as far as he could see. They were not an unusual sight, these toxic vapours, but today Prazor couldn’t help but feel that their significance was somehow greater, that they represented a more sinister aspect of the world. They were a pall that hung not only over the city but over his own future as well.

  He could still feel the vibrations of that accursed explosion in his bones, feel it rattling against his innards like some caged beast trying to get out. Even though the attack on the consul had been carried out more than an hour ago, he still had not come close to processing its ramifications. He could not get his head around the full implications of it, or even decide what to do next. He felt lost.

  In truth, he’d been expecting something like this to appear on the horizon for some years now. The unrest had been growing as conditions both inside the Reach and out in Link had gradually worsened. A discharge of tensions through some calamitous incident had been inevitable.

  However, this was not an event for which Prazor had made contingencies. He’d simply been hoping that his tenure would be at an end before it arrived.

  These were circumstances that his successor was supposed to have faced, not him.

  Charles Prazor should have been long gone by now, far away from Earth, enjoying his retirement.

  He turned away from the window. Mrs. Appleby had brought him his customary cup of morning tea, Earl Grey – or at least the closest thing they made to it these days – and it now sat on his polished oak desk under a trail of curling steam. Normally his morning routine would have dictated that he be sitting at the desk right now, sipping his Earl Grey and going over his financials, but this day was anything but routine.

  This morning he felt sick to his stomach. Sipping tea was the last thing on his mind.

  He pulled out his high-backed executive chair and slumped into it, allowing it to turn idly toward the desk as he tapped worriedly on his chin. He glanced at the terminal and saw the video feed from Level Forty-Two, where emergency crews were still trying to bring the blaze under control. It looked very much the same as it had almost an hour ago.

  A mess, he thought bitterly. A damned, blasted mess!

  This hadn’t been a good week for Commissioner Prazor.

  First there had been the debacle with Alec Duran. That should have been an easy task to handle, cut and dried. He only needed to have Duran taken to the Cellar, to let the thugs imprisoned there have their way with him. Let them have their fun, and then Duran would be out of the picture.

  A nice little punishment for that bastard, Prazor had thought.

  And yet Duran hadn’t even made it out of the Reach. Somehow he’d slipped his escort and was now on the run, and the Enforcer security team couldn’t even provide any information on where he’d gone.

  “Blasted fools,” Prazor muttered to himself. “Idiocy.”

  He wasn’t sure who he was more upset with – the security team or himself. He’d had Duran right here in his office, under his thumb like a squirming bug. Prazor himself had held a loaded revolver in his hand, pointed at Duran’s temple. He could have put Duran down right here, no mess. No fuss.

  But no, Prazor thought. I had to go and make an example of him. I had to draw it out, torture him instead of giving him a quick death, make him pay for the embarrassment he’d caused me. I overcomplicated things.

  “You’re the biggest damned fool of them all, Charles.”

  Now that incident seemed insignificant in comparison to what had happened in the early hours of this morning. The attack on the consulate was not only unprecedented in Prazor’s seven year tenure as Commissioner, but in living memory. There had never been a successful attack on Consortium personnel since the organisation’s arrival in the Reach. To think that the entire consulate had been destroyed was unimaginable.

  And Prazor knew that he was going to be held responsible for it.

  He looked at the tea again. He needed something to calm his nerves before that inevitable call came through, before he was forced to talk his way out of this mess. He reached out a trembling hand toward the fine white china cup.

  At that moment the terminal lit up, and Prazor snatched his hand back like a child who’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

  There was an incoming call from a contact labelled Administrator Valen.

  This is it.

  Prazor took a moment to compose himself, running a hand through his hair and smoothing the front of his black suit. Then he accepted the call.

  A face appeared on the screen, that of a neatly presented woman in her fifties with streaks of grey in her dark brown hair. She had a thin face with hollow cheeks and crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes. A humourless-looking woman at the best of times, Prazor thought, but now she appeared even more so.

  “Commissioner Prazor,” she said, her greeting even, businesslike.

  “Good morning, Administrator Valen.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What’s good about it?”

  “Uh, yes…” Prazor said ruefully. “Perhaps a poor choice of words.”

  “What the hell is going on down there, Commissioner?”

  Prazor straightened his posture as he formulated a response.

  “We’ve reacted swiftly to this morning’s events,” Prazor said, trying to inject some confidence, some surety into his voice. “There are emergency crews on Level Forty-Two right–”

  “I don’t care about that,” Valen said acidly. “That’s a lost cause. My people are dead. What I want to know is why?”

  “We’re trying to piece together the movements of the insurgents right now, Veronica–”

  “Don’t ‘Veronica’ me, Commissioner. Didn’t you hear me? My people are dead. You’ve lost all semblance of control down there.”

  “No, I assure you, that is not the case.”

  Valen leaned forward intently. “I’m stuck up here in this habitat at the end of the Wire, many thousands of kilometres away from the Reach, Commissioner. You do realise that, don’t you?” Prazor tried to answer but she went on regardless. “I rely on you and your Enforcers to be the extension of my authority there on Earth, the expression of my control, but from where I sit you have no authority. You have no control.”

  “This attack was highly irregular, Administrator Valen. Most unpredictable. When we gather and examine the forensics we hope to be able to trace–”

  “And how many more consulates will I lose before you find something? How many more of my people have to die because of your incompetence?”

  “This is an isolated incident, Administrator. I can assure you of that.”

  “Is that so? If I recall correctly, this is not the first time this week that my personnel have been killed or placed in jeopardy. What about that cowboy of yours? The one who was shooting at my Redmen in the Atrium a few days ago?”

  Prazor kept his voice even. “He’s been dealt with.”

  “Liar,” Valen spat. Prazor almost jumped out of his chair in surprise. He’d never heard Valen use such language before, or even that tone of voice. “Inspector Duran was escorted into an elevator that descended to Level Eighty-Seven a week ago. Then he disappeared. The Enforcers who were with him were found murdered.” She glared at him coldly. “Stop me when this starts to sound familiar.”

  “We’re tracing Duran’s movements–”

  “That was seven days ago, Commissioner. You’ve lost him. You can’t even control your own men anymore.”

  “He will be found, I swear.”

  “And what of the debacle in the Infirmary?” Valen demanded. “Three Redmen slaughtered like cattle. It’s unthinkable. You’ve made no progress there either, have you?”

  “The intruders were last seen in Gaslight. I’ve had men out looking–�
��

  “Useless,” Valen hissed. “You’ve lost control, just as I thought.” She leaned forward. “These incidents are not isolated. You do realise that, don’t you Commissioner? Something is happening here.”

  “There’s no need to jump to unwarranted conclusions, Administrator.”

  Administrator Valen shook her head disparagingly, then she sighed.

  “Things have been getting progressively worse over the last few years, Commissioner. The Consortium’s margins have been shrinking almost by the week. If my personnel are now in danger, which they evidently are, there is no reason to continue this venture. The Consortium may as well cease operations in this facility.”

  Prazor stared at her, horrified. “You can’t pull out. You can’t shut down the Wire.”

  “We can and we will.”

  “After one attack? This is a complete overreaction!”

  Valen’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare speak to me that way. I will decide what course of action is in the best interests of the Consortium.”

  “Yes, of course,” Prazor said quickly. “But please believe me, we’ll get things under control. I’ll see to it myself.”

  Valen watched him impassively. “I’m not convinced.”

  “It will be done, I assure you,” Prazor all but pleaded. “But I’ll need your help.”

  “Be careful what you ask for.”

  “Please, we have to open the gates of the Reach again. Our system of commerce can’t operate without it. We’d be left crippled.”

  Valen considered this, and as she did a man appeared at her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She nodded.

  “I have to go, Commissioner. I will consult with the Administrative Committee on this. We will advise of our decision this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Administrator. Very much.”

  Valen’s voice dropped to little more than a whisper. “No more chances, Charles. No more warnings. Stop this uprising or the Consortium will be nothing but a memory to you.”

  The call terminated and Prazor was left staring at the screen, where the video feed showed emergency crews still milling around on Level Forty-Two.

  Prazor reached out for his tea, and this time his fingers closed around the handle. He drew it to his lips and took a sip.

  He still had no idea what to do from here.

  5

  Talia hefted the terminal screen and carried it along the corridor toward the surveillance room. She’d been lugging gear around the new Skybreach headquarters all morning and now she was glistening with sweat. There were unsightly damp patches under her armpits and down her back, and even her palms had become slick, making her job all the more difficult.

  Don’t they have air-conditioning in the Reach? she thought idly, tightening her grip on the terminal.

  A tall man with broad shoulders stood slouched against the wall, idly playing with his holophone. His sizeable belly jutted out into the corridor, and as Talia approached he made no attempt to make way.

  “Hey, Holger,” Talia called out. “Why aren’t you the one hauling this shit around?”

  Holger looked up and gave her a mocking smile. “I’d much rather stand here and watch you do it, sugar pie.”

  His eyes dropped to her hips and he made no effort to hide his appreciation of what he saw.

  “Ugh,” she said in disgust, pressing against the other side of the wall as she passed him in an attempt to stay as far away as possible. “At least get out of the way, huh? Go find something to do.”

  “You’ve worked up quite a lather there, Talia. Maybe you should–”

  “Keep dreaming,” she snapped, not bothering to turn around. She could still feel his eyes on her back as she stalked away.

  In the week since she’d first arrived at Skybreach down in Link, she’d met plenty of good people. Decent people.

  Holger wasn’t one of them.

  Ostensibly there for his fighting abilities, Holger seemed to Talia more like a freeloader, content to soak up the sustenance and security provided by Skybreach while offering nothing in return. In the few hours since they had begun to move into their new lodgings in Gaslight, she had seen Holger do nothing apart from lounge about, picking at food supplies and staring at his holophone.

  Considering the rigorous recruitment practices that were supposedly in place, she wondered how he’d ever gotten his foot in the door.

  Silvestri appeared in the hallway ahead, and when he laid eyes on her he seemed relieved.

  “There you are,” he said to her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Place that down somewhere and join us,” he said. “We’re about to have a crisis meeting.” He glanced past her and saw Holger loitering in the hallway. He raised his voice. “Holger, I’ll need you as well.” Then he disappeared through the doorway again.

  Talia continued on, making it to the makeshift surveillance room they’d begun to cobble together, and found Roman seated on the floor amid a tangle of wires.

  “Hey, you,” she said cheerfully, placing the terminal on a bench and wiping off some of the sweat and dirt onto her blouse. “Having fun?”

  “It’s a mess,” Roman admitted, “but we have to start somewhere.”

  She smiled. “That’s the spirit.”

  “What’re you up to?”

  Talia jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Silvestri wants me for some kind of crisis meeting.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it’s about the attack this morning. The explosion at the consulate.”

  Roman pursed his lips. “That’s bad news, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I’d say so.” She began to walk away. “I’ll catch you later, I–”

  “Talia?”

  Something in his voice made Talia stop and turn back immediately.

  “What is it, Roman?”

  The boy glanced down and fiddled with a bunch of wires.

  “No one will give me a straight answer about what happened to Mattus,” he said disconsolately. “The guy was my friend at Grove for a long time. I know he was killed, but–”

  “I know he meant a lot to you,” Talia said compassionately. She knelt beside him. “I know he was a good friend, but I’m not sure what you want me to tell you.” She thought back to the firefight with Capper and his crew down in Link. “A lot of people died that day, a lot of good people. Mattus was just one of the unlucky ones.”

  “It just seems like such a waste when we were this close,” Roman said. “He worked a long time for Skybreach and it all came to nothing.”

  “It doesn’t have to be for nothing,” Talia said, clasping him on the shoulder. “Not if we carry through with the work that he started. We owe it to people like Mattus to make Skybreach all it can be.”

  Roman nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Keep yourself busy. Don’t dwell on it for now.” She got to her feet. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “I’ll shout you to lunch,” Roman offered, mustering a smile. “Knile is addicted to these disgusting things called chow sticks that they sell in Gaslight. You have to try them.”

  Talia grimaced. “Sounds delightful.”

  The headquarters were dingy and ill-maintained and there was a strong, unpleasant odour that seemed to pervade every corner of every room. As Talia returned to the meeting room she glanced around, noting that it was much like the handful of other rooms in the quarters – small and sparsely furnished, lit by a square, rusted panel about the size of a dinner plate that was embedded into the far wall. The bottom edge of the panel was littered with the remains of dead insects that had crawled inside and died before they could find a way out.

  For some reason she’d expected more from the Reach. In her mind, she’d pictured that it would be significantly better than conditions in Link, but it seemed that, in Gaslight at least, that was not necessarily the case.

  Silvestri glanced up from a diagram he’d been poring over with K
nile as Talia entered the room. Those assembled had been chatting quietly amongst themselves, but as Silvestri clapped his hands together to gain their attention they began to simmer down.

  “All right, people, we’re all here,” he announced. “Let’s get started.”

  Talia looked about for somewhere to stand. Space was at a premium with so many already gathered, so she positioned herself just inside the door jamb next to where Holger stood with his arms crossed, leering down at her.

  “One thing first,” Holger said, interrupting Silvestri. “Before we get started, I have to know – what the hell is that stink? Smells like they scrubbed the walls with rotten meat.”

  Silvestri looked across at Knile, who was propped up against a bench nearby.

  “I didn’t have a lot of time to find this place,” Knile said. “It’s the best I could do at short notice.” He sniffed at the air, and as the light panel behind him flickered he gave it a solid thump with his fist, bringing it back to full illumination. “I don’t know what they were using it for before we got here, and frankly, I’d rather leave it that way.”

  Holger twisted his mouth disparagingly. “I don’t think I can stomach dinner with this stench–”

  “Good,” Silvestri snapped. “You could stand to lose a few hundred kilos.” There were a few guffaws around the room, but Silvestri held up his hands for quiet. “That’s enough. Let’s get down to business.”

  “Yeah, everyone,” Holger said mockingly. “We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

  “First, a few introductions,” Silvestri went on, ignoring him. He began on his left. “Knile Oberend, one of our specialists on the Reach itself.” Knile gave a curt little wave. Silvestri pointed to the next man, a thin, dark-haired fellow with a prominent mole under his right eye. “Yun, expert in tech and particularly electronics. Aksel, our eyes in the Consortium network. Talia, one of my personal advisors.” Holger smirked at this. “Holger, our lead brawler. He and his team will be providing the muscle when we go up against the Redmen.”

  “Good luck,” Knile said under his breath.

  “Hey,” Holger shot back, “if they couldn’t kill a scrawny bug like you, what have I got to worry about?”