FAST FORWARD: A Science Fiction Thriller

by Darren Wearmouth

  “Disengage,” he said.

  The weightlessness and darkness returned. After a heartbeat, the claytronic station appeared in front Luke’s visor. He raised the headset and pushed away.

  Meakin aimed his pistol down. “Back to the rotorcraft.”

  Luke thrust from his chair and batted it aside. “If you point that thing at me again, I’ll rip your head off. Do we understand each other?”

  “Careful. We wouldn’t want any accidents before you reach Zone Seven.”

  A frozen image of Luke’s last view in Westminster displayed on the wall projection behind Meakin, meaning the goon heard every word of the discussion. It also told him private conversations only remained private outside of the technology.

  “I’m taking you back to the facility,” Meakin said.

  “Play the tough guy with someone else; you’re not taking me anywhere. We’ll travel together.”

  Meakin gave him a lingering glare before trudging up the stairs. Luke followed him outside into the blazing sunshine, and they scrunched along the gravel path. At the bottom of the garden, the rotorcraft’s blades spun to life.

  He may not have had any control over his journey up to this point, but now… everything had changed.

  Chapter 10

  Sunshine seeped through Maria's apartment blinds. She stretched her arms, rubbed her eyes, and threw her duvet to one side. After finishing her shift at the facility, she’d spent the next two hours searching the Superhighway—Britain’s allegedly secure but often hacked extranet—for information about Luke Porterfield, and now regretted her lack of sleep.

  A single snippet existed in the records— a report of a suspected suicide in 2020, saying a young couple discovered his belongings on the beach at Pevensey Bay. The article contained no pictures, but it mentioned his age as thirty. TS03 looked to be in his mid-thirties, so the biological sums worked out, and it also deepened the mystery around him.

  Maria cocked her wrist to check the time, and jolted to a sitting position. She'd overslept, and the virtual operations meeting had started five minutes ago at 2 pm.

  Night shift or not, non-attendance at the compulsory meeting resulted in a credit fine, and nobody wanted restricted access to the VR environments. She hit the remote to power-up her Personal Access System, waited for it to boot, and hoped her late appearance went undetected.

  A light blue holoscreen formed on the plastic table in the sitting area. Maria wrapped the duvet around her shoulders and slumped in front of it on the leather couch. A dark letter T rotated as the PAS connected to the corporate network.

  She reached for her headset.

  Somebody knocked on the door three times.

  The unwanted visitor had terrible timing. She shuffled across the open plan living space and eyed the image on the entry pad, expecting to see a colleague.

  Gideon Lynch stood outside and smoothed back his long gray hair. Maria's posture stiffened, and her heart rate spiked. The president seldom visited the employee village next to the facility, and when he did, fawning vice presidents typically accompanied him on guided tours.

  The only thing that explained his appearance at her door was the day she dreaded, but knew might happen. Somebody had discovered the false information her job application form, stating her former residence as Cambridge and not Zone Seven.

  Maria pressed the intercom button. “Mr. President. Can I help you?”

  “I need a few minutes of your time.”

  “I’m about to join the ops meeting.”

  Lynch bowed closer to the external speaker. “This is more important. I'll personally explain your absence.”

  Maria input the unlock code, conscious not to leave him standing outside against his wishes, and opened the door.

  Lynch strode through to the living area and sniffed the air. He glanced at the holoscreen and back toward Maria. “Cut the meeting. What I’m about to say is strictly confidential.”

  “Okay. I need a minute to get changed.”

  “No need to get dressed on my account.” Lynch looked her up and down. “Maria Casola, Operations Support.”

  Maria pulled the duvet tighter around her body, remotely powered down her PAS, and moved to the kitchenette. She’d never been physically close to Lynch or his claytronic version, and nobody had seen him in the flesh for years. Some said he physically withdrew from society after the terrorist attacks started ten years prior, others claimed it was three decades ago when his first clunky version of programmable matter walked the streets.

  “Can I get you a drink?” she asked.

  “Cuba Libre, easy on the rum.”

  She paused by the cup tree. “A what?”

  Lynch flopped on the couch and sprawled across it. “I'm joking. Take a seat with me. I've a special job for you.”

  Maria perched on the opposite end, feeling increasingly uncomfortable at Lynch's presence. He stared at her and raised his eyebrows. She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent and drummed his fingers on the leather arm.

  Unless Lynch knew for sure, Maria decided the best policy was to keep her cool and not to hang herself by volunteering the information. “What’s the job?” she asked.

  “Luke Porterfield. You know who he is, right?”

  “Does he work in tech support?”

  The lie left her mouth before she gave it a second thought, and she instantly regretted it. The only reason Maria knew his name was by ignoring Meakin’s order and loitering by the recovery room door; her browsing history would confirm it. The pressure of the situation had just given the president another reason to sack her.

  “Very good,” Lynch said. “We could make something of you.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “Don’t you?” He slid along the couch. Maria’s instinct told her to back away, but she remained still as Lynch brushed against her. “If you wanted to know, you could've asked me.”

  “Ask you what?”

  “About Luke Porterfield. You were part of TS03’s unplug this morning. He’s a former SIS officer and will help eradicate our terrorist threat. I’m assigning you as his liaison officer for the next week.”

  Maria clasped her trembling hands together and managed to sustain eye contact for more than a fleeting moment. This was unprecedented. Timetronic had dedicated liaison officers to handle reintegration for long term patients.

  “Why me, Mister Lynch? I’m only trained for operations support.”

  “You accessed his file forty times.”

  The revelation chilled Maria’s core. It also confirmed Lynch had checked up on her, meaning he probably knew she lied about not knowing TS03’s real name.

  “You look nervous,” Lynch said.

  “It’s not every day the president of Timetronic comes calling. I'm happy to help, if you think I'm the best person for the job."

  “You’re the only person for the job.”

  “Why?”

  “You know his face… and you grew up in Zone Seven.”

  Maria bowed her head at the second revelation. He’d found out about her past and she couldn’t deny it. Luke Porterfield’s unplug during her shift no longer seemed like a lucky coincidence, and she guessed the assignment would be her final act as a Timetronic employee.

  “What? You thought I didn’t know?” Lynch said. “I suspected you’d come in useful one day, and here we are.”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought …”

  Lynch leaned to within an inch of her cheek. “You’re not paid to think. I’m a reasonable man, Maria, and reasonable men allow second chances.”

  “I’ll still have a job after doing this?”

  “If you complete the task to my satisfaction, you’ll have a promotion to the liaison team. Collect Porterfield’s strap from the stores and meet him at the rotorport in twenty minutes.”

  “What exactly would you like me to do?”

  “Take him to Zone Seven and show him around. Rent an apartment, nothing too shabby, though it
might be a challenge in that dump. Call me if you have any issues, I’ll send my personal number after disengaging.”

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  “I’ve arranged a cover story for him, so don’t worry about his clothing, just help him out with details. Base yourself at the Pool Control Center after he's settled, and monitor his movements. I don't want you hanging around cramping his style, but be on-call for him.”

  Claytronic cops stationed at the PCC had a thuggish reputation and personalities to match, and Maria tried to avoid the place. But the chance of solving the eight-year-old application form headache, gaining an unexpected promotion, and spending time with Luke Porterfield paled it in significance.

  “I won’t let you down,” she said. “And thank you.”

  “Keep in mind the confidential nature and don’t breathe a word to your colleagues. The terrorists have a funny habit of being one step ahead.”

  Maria drew an imaginary zip across her lips.

  Lynch rose from the couch and headed outside. He stopped in the corridor and stared back into the living area. “Don’t take advantage of my kindheartedness and screw it up.”

  Before Maria could answer he slammed the door. She wiped her clammy palms on the duvet, took a deep breath, and checked the time on her strap. She had eighteen minutes to get showered, visit the stores, and make it to the rotorport to meet an eighty-year-old secret agent.

  Maria stood at the side of the rotorport’s concrete landing strip, armed with Luke Porterfield’s smart-strap, and shielded her eyes from the sun. A corporate rotorcraft approached in the clear blue sky, powering over the facility and the cluster of eight employee apartment blocks before it descending across a lake toward hangers.

  Her jeans and casual T-shirt were ideal for the assignment. Any formal Timetronic uniforms drew passive insults on the streets of Zone Seven. In the bars and pubs at night, it could lead to a whole lot more.

  The rotorcraft landed twenty meters away. Its engines wound down, the blades spun to a relaxed standstill, and the side panel opened.

  Maria took a single step forward. Nervous energy wanted to propel her toward the rotorcraft, but she stopped herself. Acting professionally and following Lynch’s orders guaranteed her ongoing employment, and she valued her job more than anything else. It wasn’t just about earning credits; it was her way of making a contribution to society, no matter how small, and retiring with the satisfaction of knowing it.

  Meakin plodded down the craft’s steps with a face like thunder, and headed toward the Transport Management Facility. “He’s all yours,” he said on the way past.

  Luke Porterfield, moving a lot more easily than last time she saw him, followed Meakin out. His stubble gave him a rugged appearance, not like the clean-cut modern men, and his deep blue eyes focused on Maria as he made his way toward her.

  She extended her hand. “Maria Casola, Operations Support. I'm your liaison officer, Mister Porterfield.”

  “Call me Luke. Is Meakin your boss?”

  “Not my immediate boss; he’s part of Mister Lynch’s inner circle. Way above my pay grade. What’s with the prison uniform?”

  “He brought it this morning. I suppose it helps with the cover story.”

  “That you’ve served transport time?”

  “It’s not a hard bluff to pull off, all things considered.”

  “I worked at the facility and knew you as TS03 ‘til this morning. It’s your transport systems reference. You staged a suicide at Pevensey Bay—”

  His face transformed to an icy stare, and he folded his arms. “At least I know how they explained my disappearance. Anything else?”

  “Timetronic staged it?”

  “No, Penshaw and Lynch. Timetronic didn’t exist.”

  Maria believed most patients in the facility paid the corporation for their managed periodic cycles, unlike the enforced seclusion of long-term inmates at Wandsworth; control and freedom of choice being the key differences. Information for some didn’t exist, but to avoid any focus shifting onto her application form, she never questioned it.

  “We’ve got a pod to catch,” she said. “Mister Lynch wants us to head over to Zone Seven this afternoon.”

  “Did you work at the facility when Penshaw was stolen?”

  “Before my time, I’m afraid. I know he was Timetronic’s benefactor, that’s about it.”

  He looked across to the main facility. “How did they manage to take him?”

  “It’s classified. Would you expect Timetronic to publish the exact details?”

  “I suppose not.”

  Maria led Luke across the landing strip to the pod’s pick-up point. A digital board under the plastic shelter displayed the next arrival in four minutes. She held back her questions about his personal life, putting the job in front of any personal motivations, and gave him a quick demonstration on her strap of how to start video calls, create messages, and make instant purchases from a linked bank account. Luke fastened his around his wrist, activated the iris recognition and scrolled through the menus.

  “Why did Lynch assign you?” he asked.

  “I’m originally from Zone Seven.”

  “And you work for Timetronic?”

  Maria’s face flushed with warmth. She didn’t expect him to have much contemporary knowledge, and the last thing she wanted to do was tell him how she’d dishonestly gained employment.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What does fifty thousand credits buy me?”

  “Pretty much anything; it’s more than my annual income. Have you gone virtual yet?”

  “Does claytronic count?”

  “Not really.” A two-seater white pod approached through a distant field and powered toward the facility. Perfect for what Maria had in mind to put them both at ease. “We’re spending the journey in a virtual bar. Drinks are on you.”

  Chapter 11

  Luke relaxed in his comfortable leather seat and studied a navigation display above the pod's glass nose. It showed their location as a small blue spot superimposed on a digital map, creeping toward the urban sprawl of London from a north westerly direction. By his estimation, the location of the facility was in the countryside, somewhere near absent town of Harlow, likely erased from existence by government policy.

  A summer breeze rippled across barley fields on either side of the tracks. Just like the bird's eye view from the rotorcraft, the only visible structures were steel warehouses every couple of miles. With a good-sized portion of the island’s heritage eliminated, he wondered if any of the population cared about the destruction of Britain’s landscape and architecture, or the interfaces manipulating their nervous systems on a regular basis.

  Anyone growing up today probably accepted the situation as normal. Not being part of the slow progressive grind of the last fifty years allowed Luke a different perspective on advancements. People usually didn't question small technological and political steps forward, or consider their collective long-term consequences as each change only had a minor influence on their lives. He admitted to himself he’d been guilty of the same mindset before his imprisonment. Like a frog gradually being boiled to death in a pan of water, the full impact of gradual change only sunk in at the point of no return.

  Maria leaned forward, opened a compartment by her feet, and dragged out two headsets. She powered both on, and a thin blue neon light brightened around the edge of their frames.

  Luke’s strap let out a faint electronic beep and a notification marker overlapped the circular VR application symbol.

  “Accept the session and we’ll dive right in,” she said. “It’s only two credits.”

  “Dive in where?”

  “Wait and see.”

  “Is everything a rush nowadays?”

  Maria smiled and her hazel eyes lit up her striking Mediterranean features. “Don’t be paranoid. We’re not a bunch of monsters in 2070.”

  “Do we need to set an alarm or something?”

  “Streams
automatically disengage a minute before arrival.” She passed him a headset. “Don’t worry, it’s all cool. See you inside.”

  Maria eased on her headset, her face drooped to a neutral expression, and her arms relaxed by her sides. Luke swallowed hard and lowered his.

  The HUD display identified him within a second and initiated a connection.

  A blinding flash of light followed the blackness. He experienced the same sensations as his claytronic break from reality, only this time his surroundings instantly appeared, he guessed as a consequence of a transfer to a digital space rather than an assembled claytronic version of himself in the real world.

  Luke stood on wooden planking overlooking a rutted dirt road and beyond, a sunlit rocky valley. Piano music and a roar of laughter came from behind him. He turned and faced a timber Western saloon, looking inch perfect in detail and breathtakingly realistic; a carriage wheel leaned against its wall, a wanted poster hung on a nail above it, and four painted beams that supported a second-floor balcony.

  Maria appeared behind a pair of knee-to-chest height batwing doors. “Get your ass inside, partner.”

  “Your accent needs work.”

  “We need a drink. Come on.”

  Luke caught a reflection of himself in saloon’s window. A black rubber suit hugged his body like the one he woke in earlier. He didn’t expect an angry virtual version of Billy the Kid inside, waiting to threaten strangers in odd clothing, and he bumped through the doors.

  A thin veil of tobacco smoke clouded the air. Three men, dressed in stereotypical cowboy outfits of checked shirts, leather waistcoats, and tan Stetsons, hunched around a small table playing poker. One looked over his cards at the entrance.

  Maria had moved to the solid wooden bar and rested an elbow against it. She tipped an imaginary hat as Luke approached. “Fancy a whiskey?”

  “Does it have any effect after we disengage?”

  "The more you drink here, the dizzier you get. As soon as we're back in the pod, it's like you've never touched a drop."