by V J Kavanagh
Rage quivered on Dee’s bloodied lips, ‘We trusted you!’ He scrambled to his feet. ‘This ain’t over, Commander, ain’t over at all.’
As Dee strode over the bridge, the crunch of gravel entered Steve’s consciousness. He turned. Penny’s arms were folded tightly across her lime puffer jacket. ‘Why did he call you Commander?’
‘It’s nothing, Pen, just some guy from work.’
Her lips trembled, her brow furrowed, ‘Why did he call you Commander!’ The amplified tone shook the still air.
Steve stepped forward, and lowered his voice, ‘Let’s go inside.’
‘No. Tell me.’
‘I’m an Advocate.’ The word hung for an instant — and then struck.
‘What?’ Her reflexive reaction failed to stem the pain draining her face. He wanted to hold her.
‘I’ve been an Advocate for six years.’
Penny appeared to shrink inside her jacket. ‘Why?’
He reached out, but she jerked back.
‘I’m sorry. I thought, in a few years time I’d take a job in the Council and we could live together, permanently.’
Her scoff bit hard. ‘You honestly think I’d want to spend the rest of my life with an Advocate.’
Steve swallowed what she’d stirred up. ‘The Resistance threaten us all, Pen, not just Continuity.’
‘Us all!’ Hysteria crackled on her laugh. ‘You’re only interested in Continuity, the fortunate one percent.’ A glacial stare matched her voice, ‘The people you protect are responsible for the misery of everyone else.’
‘No they’re not. Those decisions were made long before we were born. PURE ensures the human race will survive.’
‘You believe that, don’t you? It’s selective eugenics, human hybrids grown from test tubes. If you can afford it.’
Her head dropped. ‘We couldn’t afford it. Mum died because the Council said cancer had been eradicated, at least for anyone that mattered. You have no idea what it’s like outside Continuity.’
‘Of course I do, but choices had to be made.’ Although she never mentioned it, Steve knew how much Penny missed her mum. Terry had said she’d cried every day for a month after the funeral. Steve had never seen her cry. Today was no exception.
She examined him with unnerving calm. ‘You mean the sterilisation of whole countries with airborne vaccines, or the ejection of prisoners into space, or the creation of superhuman freaks. Are those the choices you’re talking about?’
Steve met her stare. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Resistance network.’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Steve. We all know the Council’s true intentions. Humanity will be dead long before Colossus arrives.’
Her arms fell to her sides. ‘I love you, Steve, but I can’t live your life, or lies.’
He reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Come inside, Pen, we can work through this.’
‘No we can’t. I’m a Drone, remember.’
08:37 THU 26:10:2119
Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2
Before Steve could blink sleep leaden eyes, reality clamped his nauseous stomach and pushed searing bile up into his throat.
He wobbled to the galley and poured a tumbler of cooled water. The whisky had provided temporary solace, but now his mouth tasted vile. He set down the second glassful and opened the starboard portholes. Raindrops spluttered in the grimy canal, while a fuzzy dawn sun struggled through stubborn cloud.
The buzzer rang. Steve’s emotions seesawed. Penny? Dee? A flutter of optimism; a stab of apprehension.
He trudged to the stern and peered into the viewer. His eyebrows dipped closer, it was too early for puzzles.
‘Yes?’
‘Commander Arrowsbury.’ The woman in the mint-green coat wasn’t asking a question.
‘Who are you?’ The Germanic accent, the plain round face dotted with small pewter eyes and lumpy jaw left Steve in no doubt.
Her face tilted under a sodden mass of chestnut hair. ‘Can we talk, please?’
Steve sighed. ‘This is private property. Goodbye.’ He took his finger off the keypad and watched her perplexed face disappear. As he turned away, the stern door’s security screen resonated with a staccato beat. ‘Go away!’
‘I know why Jason died.’
Steve froze.
* * * *
The utility room spotlights glinted off her straggly wet hair. A smile crossed the lumpy jaw and dimpled rosy cheeks as she proffered her hand, ‘Hello, Steve, my name is Jannae.’
Her grip was polite, yet confident. ‘Hello, Jannae.’
She nodded. ‘You do not need that.’
Steve withdrew the Cogent from behind his back and levelled it. ‘We’ll see.’ He gestured towards the passageway. ‘After you.’ As she passed, Steve turned and tapped the bulkhead keypad. If he wasn’t leaving alive, neither was she.
He followed her into the saloon and pointed the Cogent at the settee.
She perched down and rubbed her hands. ‘Can you switch the heating on?’
‘You won’t be staying that long.’
He slumped opposite. ‘So why was Jason assassinated?’
‘I did not say he was assassinated.’
‘You said you knew why, why implies motive.’ Steve’s head pounded, ‘Don’t make me repeat the question.’
Her grey-dot eyes riveted onto his. ‘Do you think you are the only person who has someone to lose?’
He placed the Cogent on the settee.
‘Go on.’
‘A Prosecutor killed Jason.’
Steve swallowed the erupting reflux. ‘Why would SIS kill Jason?’
‘My name is Jannae Kalckburg, Gerhard is my brother. SIS detected your attempt to access Gerhard’s file.’
Ignoring the guilt-drenched implications, Steve used his MCD to authenticate her.
She was Gerhard’s sister, and a senior PSYOPS Profiler who lectured at the PSYOPS Academy. ‘You’re level twelve?’
‘I am, and I need your help.’
His anger, like his stomach, ebbed and flowed. ‘If SIS had made the connection, I’d also be dead.’
As her hand moved, Steve lunged and grabbed her wrist. The tip of the Cogent’s barrel rested on her forehead. ‘Please don’t assume I can read your mind.’
Their gaze remained locked while her hand slid into her coat, ‘I have something to show you.’
Steve’s trigger finger tightened.
Jannae removed a rolled lemon handkerchief, placed it on the table, and opened it out. ‘You recognise it, yes?’
The metal cylinder resembled a large cigar tube, about three centimetres in diameter and five times as long. Devoid of any obvious markings, the only clues to its identity were the thin lines marking its retracted wings, and the glinting needle protruding from its tapered nose.
He slumped back down. ‘It’s a Merlin, intended for use by VETTECHs to pacify animals on the new world.’
‘SIS used it to kill Jason.’
The taut skin of Steve’s knuckle scraped against his stubble.
Her phlegmatic delivery continued. ‘Not that one, that one was sent to kill you. We tracked it; it hit a tree. We do not know why it missed you.’
Steve’s memory leapt to the EM surge. ‘Who’s we?’
‘People in PYSOPS and the Judiciary who fear as I do.’
‘Go on.’
Jannae folded her arms. ‘The Council, despite what some people believe, has always tried to balance the needs of Continuity with the majority who are not. To preserve the spirit of humanity they made Continuity responsible for education, healthcare, and employment. It did not work. Instead, it created the Drones — and the Resistance.’
‘Your point being?’ Steve didn’t want to dwell on his complicity.
‘The Resistance are no longer only Drones. Those that have been displaced from Continuity by TYPEs are joining them. Soon, the
y will be able to launch an attack on Provenance.’
Steve’s eyelids threatened to close, ‘Since when did the Resistance have access to tech weaponry — or ships.’
‘Since SIS joined them.’
Steve sat up. He’d heard lots of rumours about SIS, but not this one. ‘Keep going.’
‘For decades SIS have fed the Council’s fear of the Resistance. The ban on pregnancy, the inferior healthcare and education. It is all part of SIS’s plan to create an archaic society. A society that will become extinct before Colossus arrives.’
A dichotomy of emotions battled inside his head. He hoped she was raving mad, but doubted he’d be that lucky. ‘Why?’
‘SIS believe that only TYPEs represent the human race. They have created a new profile model, the Exemplars. They are not restrained by ethics or humanity. Their doctrine dictates absolute supremacy over non-TYPE sevens. They are also, as you know, psychologically unstable. SIS will use the Resistance to take control of Provenance and leave orbit with only five percent of Continuity, fifty thousand people. Everyone else will be killed.’
‘There’re thousands of CONSEC aboard Provenance.’
‘CONSEC Command receive their orders from the Council, who are influenced, and threatened, by SIS.’
Steve’s gaze dropped to the Merlin. ‘What proof do you have?’
‘You have met an AH-74, yes? The Council built them for their protection, but it is SIS who control them. We think the SIS CPU is manufactured at MP 14.’
Within the quagmire of Steve’s mind he found a pool of clear water, the reason why Jannae had come to him. Her brother had worked at MP 14. ‘So SIS killed Jason because I accessed Gerhard’s CPF?’
‘They are trying to protect MP 14.’
‘Is that what Gerhard told you?’
‘No, I—’ Jannae’s head tilted. ‘Was that a trick? You know I do not know where he is.’
But you know he’s alive. ‘Why don’t you take this to CONSEC?’
‘SIS have infiltrated CONSEC and placed an artificial in every Quad. With one command, they could kill everyone.’ Jannae’s eyes wandered. ‘I tried to warn Jason.’
Steve’s empty stomach simmered, ‘The same way you tried to warn his Guardian?’
Her eyes reengaged. ‘You know I could not. SIS would assume Jason had talked to Paul. It is fortunate they did not arrest you at Mitzys.’
‘How do you know I was at Mitzys?’
‘We. . . I have friends who watch you, so I can help.’
‘You mean your frizzy blonde haired friend? Tell her she needs a change of wardrobe.’ Steve waited for a reaction that never came. Not that he’d expected to glean much from the body language of a Level 12 Profiler. The thought occurred to him that CONSEC had been at Mitzys looking for an AH in a red duffle coat. Conjecture snaked in and wreathed in a knot of confusion. The AH that’s tracking me killed Paul? Who for, the Resistance, SIS? CONSEC know of SIS’s plans, but haven’t told me? He re-established eye contact. ‘I’ll speak with Admiral Smithson.’
Her stare crystallised. ‘If you do, Jason will never be avenged because we will all be dead.’ She leant forward. ‘You must trust me.’
He didn’t. Had SIS wanted to kill him, they wouldn’t have activated the EM surge and if they’d sent an AH to kill Paul, it could just as easily have killed him. ‘It’s probably safer for you if I don’t.’
‘I understand, but we do not have much time. SIS know who has the sequence break algorithm. They will soon be able to start Provenance’s engines.’
* * * *
After Jannae left, Steve returned to the saloon. He’d move Cool Breeze to Eadsey wharf. Whatever the truth, the further away he was from Penny, the safer she’d be.
He picked up his MCD, and once again scrolled through Jason’s call log. There were several scrambled IDs, but only one used an encryption prefix he recognised. As Jason would have intended.
He tapped the scrambled ID and waited for it to decrypt.
‘Hello?’ The voice from the MCD sounded wary.
‘Hello, Alex.’
‘I-I think you have the wrong call ID.’
‘My name is Mr Wilkinson. I’m calling to thank you for my birthday present.’
‘What can I do for you, Mr Wilkinson?’
23:49 FRI 27:10:2119
FH 1, Chicago, USA, Sector 1
Steve glanced out of the cabin window. Several hundred metres below, deserted orange highways dissected the illuminated grid of street lamps. They were on final approach to FH 1 Chicago, Earth’s largest spaceport.
A female voice broke through the blue-tinted quietude. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll shortly be landing at flight hub one. Please be advised you are entering a red zone. All visitors to Sector 1 should report immediately to CONSEC station. Thank you and have a good day.’
Steve shook his head. It was 23:50, raining, and he’d lost six hours.
Tension in his harness gave the only indication that Hyper-Liner TSB-23 had landed. Through the rain-streaked porthole and beyond the unending row of security lamp posts, Steve could see the pulsating launch ramps. His gaze shifted to the blazing lights of the departure station. Perhaps it’s a drill, or perhaps Jannae’s telling the truth.
Ambient chatter rose to an excited gabble, people moved across the aisle.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated.’ No one on the starboard side did.
A ‘Tubby’ slumbered on the ramp. As large as a bundle of four Saturn V rockets, the herculean white tube could carry four Praetorians. From above, its outline resembled a timer dial; a ninety-metre circle with a projecting point.
When the launch ramp pulsed red, cabin chatter dwindled to silence.
The lumbering white hulk began to move, and then catapulted into a steam-trailing streak. Seconds later, a boom reverberated around the flight hub and two distant globes of brilliance soared into the night sky. Everyone exhaled.
After disembarking, Steve passed unchallenged through three sets of security gates before leaving the terminal and hailing a taxi. He suspected the driver had wished he hadn’t.
Orange streetlight flickered over the taxi’s plastic interior and Steve’s black and red Interrogator uniform. The driver followed the expressway before turning onto the empty state tollway. His taciturnity came as no surprise to Steve; nobody voluntarily shared their thoughts with SIS. Once they’d been through your memory lockers, you’d never want to open them again.
Twenty minutes later, the towering concrete walls of Detention Centre 4 came into view. The walls gleamed fiercely under stark security lights, their contiguity broken only by the reception block’s band of arctic-blue windows.
Steve stepped out onto the glossy wet tarmac and swiped his MCD over the meter.
The driver didn’t make eye contact. ‘Th-Thank you, sir. Good night.’
Before Steve had stowed his MCD, the taxi was gone. The mere sight of a Detention Centre could elicit a full confession, as could Steve’s Interrogator uniform.
He entered the ambient sterility of the beige foyer and authenticated. An opening appeared in the wall ahead.
‘Thank you, Mr Hojeda. Please proceed.’
The reception hall was warmer, but no less sterile. Ahead, silver tiles bordered a pair of polished metal doors and to the right a windowed booth extended out from the corner. As Steve approached, a Defender stood. His colleague continued to stare at a bank of monitors.
‘Hello, Mr Hojeda, how are you today?’
Steve glanced up at the LED readout above the booth, 00:32:14.
‘Fine thank you, is everything ready?’
‘Yes, sir. The prisoner is in room seven, level two. SECCOM is on channel seven-one-eight.’
The Defender’s shoulder dropped and the polished metal lift doors opened.
Steve smiled. ‘You have been most efficient.’
The lift descended and opened into a bleak corridor, its
bare concrete walls starkly lit by a line of domed ceiling lights reflecting in glossy floor tiles.
Room seven, like all interrogation rooms, had ash-grey walls, a matching tiled floor and two overhead strip lights. A rectangular metal table separated the padded interrogator’s chair from the detainee’s bare metal one. Steve dropped his ruckall next to the chair and sat opposite a shorthaired woman with large dark eyes. The pink sleeves of her white coveralls denoted her crime. She was pregnant.
‘You’re wasting your time, I ain’t gonna tell you who the father is.’
Steve gripped the table and pushed back. ‘Are you sure? You’re only twenty-three. You have your whole life ahead of you.’
Her head arched back exposing the mahogany smooth skin below her jaw. ‘Life, what do you know about life, apart from taking it.’
‘Does he love you?’
Her head dropped, her snarl uncoiling into a flat smile. ‘We finished here?’
Steve sighed, reached down to the ruckall, and retrieved the ultrasonic cutter. ‘Unfortunately not.’ He tapped his MPS. ‘This is room seven, turn off surveillance.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Steve removed the MCD from his tunic pocket and placed it on the table.
She struggled against the metal restraints, her resilience crumbling into a sob. ‘Don’t hurt my baby.’
He walked around the table and placed his hand on her trembling arm. ‘No one’s going to hurt your baby, Michelle, or you. My name’s Steve, I’m a friend of Dee’s. Keep an eye on the MCD. If it turns red, pretend to be unconscious.’
Steve knelt down and placed the V-shaped cutting head on the chair’s control panel. ‘You’ll smell burning, but don’t worry.’
The plasma burst through the metal cover in seconds, four clicks followed.
He led Michelle to the middle of the room. ‘Stand still, arms by your side, and look down.’ After scanning her with the MCD, he removed an HSS, a PSYOPS uniform and the Identity Masking Kit from his ruckall. ‘You’re Lieutenant Barnes, a Level Five Profiler.’
Michelle pointed at the black cylinder. ‘What’s that?’
‘Holographic projector, it should give us some time.’