FAST FORWARD: A Science Fiction Thriller

by Darren Wearmouth

  Luke gave her a couple of seconds, nothing more. The PCC still contained a few hundred cops; any who had taken a courage pill for dinner, or fancied making a name for themselves, would be out in no time.

  Frank rushed over, his face full of excitement. “Let’s finish this.”

  Carl offered a hand to Helen, she climbed to her feet, and they embraced.

  Luke hated the thought of leaving Perry and Emma lying behind the damaged carrier, but they had no choice. The best way to honor them was to ensure Lynch paid for his crimes.

  The group headed toward the landing strip in silence. Luke knew everyone would have their own slant on events, and their personal implications. From his perspective, Walter had saved the day by making his brave decision and cementing their escape from the PCC—he couldn’t remember a more selfless act.

  “That one,” Frank said and pointed at a lozenge shaped corporate craft. “It’ll outrun anything that follows—”

  Gunfire pierced the air.

  Glowing red projectiles whistled through the dark sky and smashed into patrol crafts.

  Luke spun to face the PCC. Somebody leaned out of a ground level entrance and fired two more shots.

  “Get to the craft,” Carl said. “I’ll cover you.”

  Helen hooked her arm around Frank’s and pulled him along. Luke followed, turning back every few steps to make sure Carl had the situation under control. Walter’s loyal bruiser pumped steady rounds at the open doorway and quickly put a stop to the attack.

  Frank climbed into the cockpit, punched in a code the dashboard, and the controls blinked to life. Helen shuffled alongside him and put a headset on.

  The craft’s engine roared to life; its twin propellers cut through the air and built up speed. The side door rotated open, and a small set of stairs folded down to the concrete. Luke entered and instantly recognized the orange couches and drinks cabinet from his first trip in 2070, though this craft had no opaque glass wall separating the pilots from the luxury cabin.

  “Ready for lift off,” Frank said.

  Luke put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

  Carl rose from one knee and jogged toward the craft.

  Two figures wheeled a restrainer cannon into the PCC’s open doorway.

  “Look out,” Luke yelled.

  The noise of the engine drowned out his words. Carl continued forward at a steady pace, unaware a red laser shot from the end cannon and had focused on his back. Luke pointed toward the PCC and mouthed a warning.

  A transparent blob popped from cannon and raced across the landing strip at a blistering pace. Within two seconds it slammed into Carl and knocked him to the ground. He struggled to his feet, but the substance expanded into a shell around his body and hardened, freezing him in a twisted shape. He stared at Luke with a look of horror and toppled onto his back.

  Luke growled and raised his rifle.

  The laser sliced over the concrete and focused on his chest.

  Helen twisted in her seat. “We'll be back for him.”

  Frank lifted off as another transparent blob popped from the cannon. It rocketed below the rotorcraft’s skids and splattered against the perimeter fence.

  They quickly gained altitude as Luke watched small figures rush from the PCC and surround Carl’s prone body. He consoled himself that this was one member of the team he could save, and the key to doing that lay at their next destination: Clifton Hall.

  Chapter 31

  The rotorcraft pounded over central London toward the northern perimeter. Luke stared down at transport pods, sailing along brightly lit streets between the regimented grid-system of apartment blocks, and he wondered how many citizens would ever discover what had happened at the PCC tonight.

  From their original team of eight plus Frank, three had died, two were stunned, and one was captured in a slime cocoon, all fighting for personal freedoms the majority of the public didn't even know were at risk. He hoped Maria didn’t suffer any consequences for their attack, but deep down, he feared Meakin or Lynch would make her answer for actions she knew nothing about.

  Frank guided the rotorcraft over the perimeter fence, giving Luke his first high-level sense of an urban pool. The glittering mass ended in a smooth sweeping line and the ground below transformed to moonlit farmland.

  Helen squeezed between the two cockpit seats, entered the cabin, and sat on the opposite couch. “Do you know what it’s like to lose a person you love?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “You need to understand where I’m coming from when I get my hands on Lynch.”

  “Rip off his arm, shove it through his head, and ride him around like a motorbike. I couldn’t care less.”

  “I’m serious. I lost my mother, developed locked-in syndrome after having my drink spiked, and had to suffer my father grieving for her while my condition ripped his heart out. I can’t forgive Lynch for killing him.”

  “I know your history. Lynch repeated his dose of misery with Walter. I get it; you want to go nuclear on his ass. You realize if you bump him off, and word gets out, you’ll be viewed in a similar light?”

  “You’re suggesting I go easy on him?”

  “No; we capture and expose him as an unhinged weasel. Kill him and there’ll always be questions. Your best route is taking away his power and making him live with it. I won’t stop you from slapping him first, though.”

  “I’ll think about it, but meeting him face to face ...”

  “Lynch abused his authority and created a culture of fear. It’ll be easier running Timetronic if you start on the right foot. Be the bigger person and lead by example.”

  Helen turned toward a window and eyed the dark landscape below. He left her in silent contemplation and headed for the domed glass cockpit to get Frank’s take on events. The old man struck him as a little crazy, but his connection to the plan wasn’t as personal as Helen’s, and he’d risked his life to play a key part.

  Luke sat in the co-pilot’s seat, in front of a myriad of electronic measurements fluctuating on an array screens. In the distant northeast, thousands of lights radiated from another urban pool, located where Watford once stood as one of London’s satellite towns. Directly ahead, dim glows marked the roads between farming warehouses.

  “Wanna see what this baby can do?” Frank asked.

  Before Luke could answer, he thrust the cyclic stick to the right. The rotorcraft tilted and plummeted at a sharp angle. Its single front headlight speared across a wheat field as the ground rushed toward them.

  Luke clutched his seat, and his heart rate spiked. In his peripheral vision, Helen staggered across the cabin and thudded into the opposite couch.

  “Stop fooling around,” she shouted.

  Frank straightened the craft at low-level and gunned the engine. “The only foolish thing is approaching at high altitude. His Royal Lynchness doesn’t need any advanced warning.”

  “You could’ve given me one,” she said. “How close are we?”

  “Five minutes. I’ll land in front of the hall.”

  A weak light appeared on the horizon, and an overhead digital map identified it as Clifton Hall, unlike the blank space on the public version Luke had studied on Maria’s scroll. A return to Sir Henry Penshaw’s estate for a date with destiny had a circular feel, but his time he wasn’t prepared to listen to any offers or compromise himself.

  “Perry told me you were plugged years ago,” Frank said. “What do you make of modern society?”

  “Difficult to say. I’m an eighty-year-old bloke with little experience.”

  “You must have an opinion?”

  “If I had to sum it up in a single world?” Luke said, “Plastic. Take away a person’s choice to experience real things and replace it with an explicit electronic substitute, and you’re controlling and manipulating them. I couldn’t live my life as a Timetronic puppet.”

  Frank smiled, accentuating the wrinkles around his eyes. “You’re speaking like a true Zone Sevener. Some t
hink I’m an old dog set in my ways but I don’t see it like that. I’m a simple man who loves a beer at The Halfway, sport, and family.”

  “And you hate Timetronic?”

  “I loved visiting the countryside as a kid; exploring foreign lands with their new sights, sounds, and smells. Nowadays they think putting on a damned headset is no different. It’s an illusion; technology imitating life.”

  Luke found it hard to disagree, but reminded himself Frank was in his seventies and more a creature of his time rather than modern day. Five decades ago, septuagenarians complained about smartphones and social media sucking away physical interaction. Maria had taught him the younger generation of today liked the virtual solutions, and if he pulled off the plan, he didn't want to grace society afterward as a grumpy old man in a thirty-five-year-old body.

  The light on the horizon had grown brighter, and Frank checked the overhead screens. “Two minutes ‘til we land and strangle Lynch with his own ponytail.”

  “Protect the craft. If Lynch isn’t here, we need a place to regroup and think about our next moves.”

  Frank frowned. “Why do you insist on having the fun?”

  “Seeing Perry, Emma, and Walter die isn’t my idea of fun. Open the side door and I’ll jump straight out. We'll know pretty quick if he's here or not.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  Luke moved back to the cabin. Helen glared through a porthole window at Clifton Hall, and held her rifle close to her chest.

  The door punched out, rotated open, and cold wind rushed inside. Luke grabbed a handle on the wall, and swayed outside.

  A tall stone barrier surrounded the estate that made the Berlin Wall look residential in comparison, if any of the historical sections still stood. Ground lights at the foot of the main hall bathed it in a yellow glow, a red beacon flashed on the barn’s roof. At the far end of the estate, close to a patch of woodland, bright shafts beamed from two first-floor windows of a small building. Luke remembered Sir Henry telling him about how they monitored the transport systems at the Gamekeeper’s house, and it gave him another place to search.

  The rotorcraft powered over the estate, descended at a steady angle, and Frank navigated directly toward the hall’s main entrance.

  Something moved on top of the wall, and Luke squinted through the gloom at the tall, dark structure. A chain gun rotated on a spherical turret and followed the craft's trajectory. He stuck his head back inside. “Evasive action. Now.”

  Frank thrust the cyclic stick to the left and banked to within touching distance of a shimmering lake. Helen grabbed a seatbelt at the end of the couch. Luke squeezed the handle in a two-handed grip, his legs swung out of the door, and his boots skimmed the water.

  Three points along the barrier flashed, and the sound of gunfire erupted.

  Rounds strafed the water and peppered the side of the craft, shattering one of the porthole windows.

  An alarm beeped from the cockpit. Frank swerved back to his original course and turned in his seat. “We’re losing power. I’m taking us down.”

  Luke tensed, expecting another broadside from the barrier defenses, but no more shots followed. He guessed they only had a certain range inside the estate to avoid shooting the hall. Regardless of their operation, the guns had loudly announced their arrival.

  The rotorcraft's engines wound down and they glided over a road, losing altitude every second, and going too fast for any kind of safe landing. Luke dived toward Helen and grabbed another seatbelt.

  The skids crashed against the ground, and the rotorcraft shuddered. A fridge at the far end of the cabin flipped open and mini bottles of champagne bounced along the floor. They bumped along grass and juddered to an abrupt halt.

  Luke scrambled to his feet and jumped outside. The rotorcraft's bullet-scarred body sat silently at the end of two long gouges in the turf. Internal lights shone from different parts of the hall. He focused on the main entrance and stared in disbelief at the stone fountain. Chronos, the Greek God of time, had been replaced by a statue of Gideon Lynch, dressed in Roman toga with a laurel wreath on his head.

  Helen crouched by his side and shouldered her rifle. “This isn’t home anymore. It’s infected by a parasite.”

  “You lead the way. I’m thinking library first.”

  Frank kicked open the cockpit door, stiffly descended the external steps, and drew his revolvers. “No need for me to stay here. This bird won’t fly.”

  “All right,” Luke said. “Let’s do this.”

  They joined the gravel road and advanced in an extended line. Luke switched his aim between the hall’s windows and thought everything seemed too quiet; too easy to approach for a man like Gideon Lynch to allow.

  Chapter 32

  Helen scowled as she passed the fountain, and she climbed three steps to the hall’s front doors. Luke stayed close, ensuring he had her back and guessed her desire to throttle Lynch had gone into overdrive after seeing the self-obsessed statue dominating the front entrance of her ancestral home.

  Frank wheezed alongside Luke, rested his revolvers on his knees, and gulped in deep breaths. “The bloke loves himself.”

  “I’m not sure why. There isn’t much to like.”

  “You guys ready for this?” Helen said and wrapped her fingers around the brass doorknob. “Don’t forget, if you find him, I want him alive.”

  “Go for it—”

  Loud rave music blasted inside Luke’s skull; bass thumped in ears. He slung his rifle and grasped the side of his face. Helen squeezed her eyes shut and dropped to one knee. Frank stopped in his tracks and gave them both a confused look.

  The music stopped.

  “I’ve connected wirelessly to your man-machine interfaces,” Lynch’s voice said in Luke’s mind. “I’ll turn you into a gibbering wreck unless you agree to a virtual meeting.”

  “No chance,” Luke said. “I’d never disengage.”

  “What the hell?” Frank asked.

  “Lynch tapped our interfaces,” Helen said. “But he can’t send us virtual.”

  “Can’t I?” Lynch said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

  “We’d already be in prison if you could. I’m mates with one of your developers and he never mentioned it. He also told me you’re nowhere near uploading your brain.”

  Lynch tutted. “Stupid bitch. Enjoy white noise; you deserve each other.”

  A deafening hiss swamped Luke’s head. He lunged forward, opened the door, and entered the foyer. Ten oil paintings of Lynch, at various stages of his life, hung on the walls. One depicted him wearing dinner suit, lounging on top of a transport system. Another, in the opaque style, portrayed him swinging a tennis racket with his ponytail splayed out to the side.

  From here, Luke remembered the way to the library and was aware of the need to move fast in case Lynch had a more powerful trick up his sleeve. He jogged down a short corridor, thrust his boot against a door, and it banged open.

  Logs crackled in the hearth below an oversized mantelpiece. He stepped inside and scanned the room.

  A claytronic version of Lynch stood in front of a bookshelf at the opposite side of the library, pointing a shotgun in his direction. Luke dived behind a tan armchair.

  Lynch fired, blasting the leather upholstery, and sent an antique drinks globe skidding on its side. He racked the shotgun and an expended shell bounced along the wooden floorboards.

  “I thought you took an oath?” Luke said.

  “You’re a ghost. No records of you exist.”

  Helen and Frank stopped in the corridor. Luke pointed toward the bookshelf and kept his head down.

  “You can’t win,” Lynch said. “There’s plenty of clayports located around the estate, and if you kill this version of me, I’ll return with something more lethal than Sir Henry’s silly old gun.”

  The shotgun boomed again. Glass covering a painting above Luke shattered, and fragments showered his head and shoulders. He rose from behind the armchair, safe in the knowledge
Lynch had to pump the antiquated weapon, fixed the doctor’s sneering face in his sights, and pulled the trigger.

  Lynch’s head jerked back, and his image froze, taking on a light blue glassy appearance. He transformed to a sparkling cloud, vanished, and the shotgun thudded against the floor. Luke waved Helen and Frank inside the room.

  Frank spoke, but the shrill white noise muffled his words.

  “Shout up,” Luke said. “I can’t hear.”

  He stepped closer. “We need to destroy the clayports.”

  “Finding his claystation stops him for good. Helen, any idea where to search first?”

  “He controlled sessions from the dining room.”

  Luke ran out of the library, leaving the other two to follow, and retraced the route Sir Henry had taken him fifty years ago. He initially headed for the conservatory, turned down an oak paneled corridor, and approached the site of his drugging.

  Speed was of the essence as he expected another version of Lynch to appear at any moment and the fewer claytronic doctor’s he had to face the better. He twisted the dining room’s door handle, thrust his shoulder against a panel, and recoiled from the locked entrance.

  Helen and Frank rounded the corner, adopted covering positions either side of him, and trained their weapons toward opposite ends of the corridor.

  A floorboard creaked inside the dining room, and a shadow moved across the thin crack of light at the bottom of the door. Luke swung his rifle up and fired four times, puncturing the oak with each shot.

  A male voice cried out, and a heavy weight thumped against the floorboards, confirming whoever it was as real flesh and blood.

  “Open up,” Luke shouted. “I’ll give you five seconds before I turn this door into a cheese grater.”

  “He might be dead—” Frank said.

  The lock clanked, and the door creaked ajar.

  Luke forced his way through the gap, Helen and Frank followed, and they surrounded a prone, shaven-headed goon, dressed in a Timetronic uniform. He stared up with fear in his eyes and extended a bloodied hand toward Frank’s muzzle. “Don’t shoot.”