by V J Kavanagh
After transferring the image, Steve placed the HSS under the table, adjusted the projection angle, and stepped back. The light intensity increased until a credible hologram of Michelle appeared.
‘That’ll have to do. I—’ Steve snatched up his vibrating MPS, the scanner icon flashed. Prefect.
Her deep brown eyes implored his. ‘What’s that noise?’
The distinctive hum drew closer, louder, until the reverberations drummed against the door. He guided Michelle to the adjacent corner and raised a finger to his lips.
Steve faced the door and tapped the keypad. Before it had fully opened, the matt black Prefect pivoted towards him. Steve leapt, grabbing the casing’s top edge with his left hand and driving the cutter into the indicator panel with his right. The Prefect retaliated, slamming him into the corridor wall and twisting its black shell against his body. He coughed as the screaming anti-gravity drive filled the corridor with a whorl of hot metallic exhaust. Through stinging eyes, he looked down. The cutter tip blazed white against the indicator panel and smoke curled around his clenched hand. It wasn’t penetrating. Steve’s other hand began to slip off the smooth black casing.
In his periphery, a stubby barrel emerged from the Prefect’s weapons port. He stabbed the cutter into the open port and dropped to the floor. The Prefect lurched up, crashing into a ceiling light and showering him in glass pellets.
Steve had studied Prefects in intimate detail, and not only in his nightmares. This one was different, but not different enough. The cutter had jammed the weapons port inner door. The Prefect’s weapon couldn’t fully extend, couldn’t lock, couldn’t fire. He stepped back and grimaced in anticipation of the ear-splitting screech. It never came. Instead, the Prefect sank to the floor. Its weapon’s port vomited, spewing the blackened cutter and rivulets of molten orange onto the pale tiles.
Swathed in soot-laden smog the Prefect fell silent. A few seconds later, it began its metronomic beep.
00:46 SAT 28:10:2119
DC 4, Chicago, USA, Sector 1
Steve’s boots screeched on the corridor’s polished floor. He scrambled back into room seven, grabbed Michelle’s hand and winced. A part of his disguise had melted into his palm.
He ran towards the lift, feeling the tension in his arm as she struggled to keep up. His boots slid to a halt and he stabbed the glowing button before stepping in front of Michelle. Twenty metres away sat the Prefect’s smoking carcass; his body wouldn’t offer much protection.
The lift chimed. Steve scooped Michelle in his arm and charged inside. The doors closed after three seconds, the lift started to rise after two more, and the Prefect exploded one second after that.
Michelle screamed in the dark, the lift shook, its silent motion replaced by a metal-squealing judder. He held her quivering body close, blackness mutated to a red hue, the squeal to a whine. ‘We’re almost there, when the doors open stay here.’ Her grip on his arm tightened.
Emergency red lighting saturated the reception hall; the Defenders had retreated behind the booth’s blast shutters. Steve strode to the door and rapped on it. ‘Mr Walker, it’s Mr Hojeda. What has happened?’
The door squeaked ajar and Walker’s shiny rotund face peeked out, followed by stale sweat. ‘We don’t know.’
‘It sounded like an explosion to me, let me in.’
Steve stepped into the glare. Walker’s grey uniform stretched over a corpulent body and black circles spread from the armpits. Walker had good reason to be worried. An infraction at a Detention Centre could result in expulsion from Continuity. Walker would survive that, but not the retribution from his disfranchised relatives.
‘Where’s your colleague?’
The rubicund head directed a nod at a metal door in the booth’s rear wall. ‘He’s gone down to have a look.’
‘Is my prisoner secure?’
Walker plodded to the wall of monitors, slumped into a chair and pointed up. ‘They’re sending in another Prefect. We think one of the new ones malfunctioned.’
Steve followed Walker’s pudgy finger to the monitor. The Prefect’s intense light beam shone through a dust-choked corridor. Concrete fragments encrusted the floor and twisted tendrils of reinforcement sprouted from the shattered walls. There was no room seven, or six or eight. The beam terminated in the void of the open lift shaft.
‘Well, Mr Walker, as there’s no trace of her biofield, I think it’s safe to assume I won’t be interviewing her again.’
Walker appeared to wilt. ‘I don’t understand. Why did it explode?’
Steve rested one hand on Walker’s shoulder and reached down under the desk with the other. ‘I wish I knew. Now please let me out.’
‘But — yes, sir.’ The doughy hand slapped a large red button on the console.
Steve turned towards the door. ‘Thank you, Mr Walker.’ He never doubted Walker’s compliance, no one argued with SIS. That was the problem.
‘You’re welcome.’ Walker sighed. ‘I’ll be lucky if they don’t put me on the other side for this.’
Steve stopped smiling. ‘We all have to give up something when we put on the uniform.’ As his hand touched the door handle, Walker spoke again.
‘Mr Hojeda?’
Steve didn’t turn around, ‘Yes, Mr Walker?’
‘One of your eyes has changed colour.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Walker.’
Approaching the lift, Steve touched the MPS screen. ‘Aw give me a break!’ Walker’s despairing outburst confirmed success. The thumb sized Electronic Disruption Device Steve had placed under the edge of Walker’s desk had fired and the resultant near-field EM pulse had induced a system reset. Every camera within a twenty-metre radius was offline. He extracted the frantic Michelle from the lift and left.
Four hours later, they stood outside the Whistling Goose at Eadsey Wharf and watched the taxi disappear into the dawn mist.
Michelle yawned. ‘You live here?’
Steve smiled up at the pub’s brick facade. ‘Not far away.’
* * * *
Aromatic fresh coffee wafted through Cool Breeze. Michelle had showered and changed first, Steve knew he’d take much longer. From the exposed parts of his body, he’d had to peel away the deep copper skin of the native Sevillian, Miguel de Hojeda. For his fused right palm, he’d had to resort to a scalpel.
As he approached the saloon, he stopped. ‘You’re not holding anything breakable are you?’
‘No, why?’
He turned into the galley.
Michelle’s mouth opened in a silent scream. ‘I knew something wasn’t right.’
He wanted to know what; he rarely received feedback on his one-time disguises. ‘Different coloured eyes? A lens flicked out.’
She shook her head and threw him a beaming smile. ‘Nah. Stubble. I was with you all night, and this morning your face was as smooth as butter.’
Steve rubbed his freshly shaven chin, he’d remember that.
10:19 SAT 28:10:2119
Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2
Dee made his way to the back of the canal boat and climbed the steps into the sunshine. He sniffed; mouldy earth replaced polished wood. Steve sat on the curved blue seat at the rear of the deck, his back resting against glinting chromed rails. Below his T-shirt’s left sleeve a fist sized welt glowed fiercely on his bicep. Francois’s not so subtle warning pricked Dee’s mind, ‘Before the door has closed make sure you are in the right room.’ Dee had made his decision; he couldn’t risk even being in the same building as Steve. ‘I’m sorry, man. I was wrong about you.’
Steve stood and arched his back. ‘Forget it, that’s the least of our problems. Let’s go in.’
Dee nodded. ‘How’s the hand?’
Steve held up his right palm. ‘Better now it’s separated from the sleeve.’
At the sight of the green GelPlas, a drop of corrosive guilt plopped into Dee’s stomach. Not for what he’d done, but for wh
at he had to do.
They went inside and Dee eased back into one of the saloon’s leather settees while Steve recounted his version of events at RS 26, his meeting with Jannae and the new Prefect at DC 4. The more Dee heard, the more frustrated he became. None of it made sense. After twenty minutes, his boots were clumping backwards and forwards along the polished wood floor. ‘So, SIS got Jas, but missed you?’
‘Were you listening? Someone upstairs initiated an EM surge. That requires sigma authentication.’
Dee bit his bottom lip. ‘So the Resistance killed Jas with tech they got from SIS, but when they try to kill you, SIS stop them.’
‘I don’t understand it either, but you’ve heard the rumours, SIS are pushing the Council to war.’
Dee stopped pacing and swung around. ‘No, that’s the Resistance. Perhaps after CONSEC stuck that watch order on you they sent her to rattle your lockers — see what falls out.’
‘She wasn’t asking, she was telling.’
Dee flopped back into the opposite settee. ‘I ain’t as trusting as you.’ I can’t afford to be.
‘What about Bo? The Resistance couldn’t have reprogrammed the Prefect.’
‘Bo’s phase was on, his visor was down. I loved the guy, but he ran too close to the edge, you said it yourself.’
‘How did it find him? Only Command knew we were at RS 26 and Jannae says SIS are inside CONSEC.’
Dee flicked his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps she’s SIS?’ He knew Steve wasn’t gonna give up, he never did.
‘She can’t be. Three months ago, Jason received an op command to investigate a Gold Captain from MP 14. The report said he’d released a MECTECH suspected of passing information to the Resistance.’
Dee screwed up his face. ‘A Gold Captain?’ If Gold Agents were helping the Resistance, CONSEC really did have a problem.
‘I know, we didn’t believe it either. Anyway, it was a priority, so we took him straight to Central. When we got there, the Duty Officer asked if he could release the Captain’s wife. He had no idea why she’d been arrested, so we went back and spoke to the Captain. Initially he refused to say anything, but Jas persuaded him.’
Dee bobbed his head. Physical intervention was the one thing he and Jas had agreed on.
Steve continued. ‘Apparently she was insurance against him divulging the real reason he’d been arrested. He’d enquired about a SCITECH who SIS had accused of sedition. He and the SCITECH were friends, been at MP 14 for years. He said SIS arrested the SCITECH because he’d submitted a report to the Council.’
‘What about?’
Steve shrugged. ‘He didn’t know, but it cost the SCITECH his life. DC 15 said he was killed trying to escape. In other words . . .’
Dee’s reckoning focused on the table. SIS had paid a visit to the Detention Centre — and assassinated him.
‘The SCITECH’s Gold Captain friend was Gerhard Kalckburg. Jannae’s brother.’
Dee raised his head; he avoided looking at the clock, ‘So whadda ya do?’
‘I accessed the Judiciary through INC and ran a search on everyone involved. There were no files, nothing — except an SIS tracer worm. It broke through two crypto walls before I locked it out, and Jannae said it still tagged me. That’s why SIS came after Jason and me. They’ve got something to hide.’
Dee knew about cryptography, and what happened to anyone caught hacking into INC.
‘What happened to Kalckburg?’
‘We took him off net. Moved him and his wife to Dusseldorf.’
Dee jumped up. ‘You what? You’re crazy man. Nothing you’ve said proves anything.’
Anger flashed in Steve’s eyes. ‘Playing dumb isn’t going to save you, or your family. That new Prefect was stamped with a circle enclosed in a triangle, APD Industries. APD Industries own MP 14, the plant where Gerhard and the SCITECH worked.’
Dee wasn’t playing, or dumb. It was a matter of survival, and self-deception was the only defence he had left. ‘I’m sorry man. I appreciate you getting Michelle back, but I can’t risk getting involved. When SIS figure out she ain’t in the rubble, I wanna make sure the family’s well outta the way.’
‘Where will you take them?’ Steve’s friendly smile made Dee feel uncomfortable, but Steve didn’t have family, at least none that cared about him.
‘Francois’s house. He says he can shield ‘em from EAGLE-EYE.’
09:28 SUN 29:10:2119
Red Zone, London, England, Sector 2
Flanked by two Gold Agents, Steve watched the SOHQ reception screen yield to the po-faced Admiral Choo and gladiatorial Captain Lacusta.
‘Where were you yesterday, Commander?’ Choo’s laconic introduction left Steve in no doubt as to his fate.
The throbbing pain in his hand intensified. ‘On my boat, sir.’
‘Captain Lacusta called you and you did not answer.’
Steve pondered at the roman-nosed Lacusta with the slicked back hair and Mediterranean skin tone. ‘My MCD fell in the canal, sir; it took me a while to find it.’
‘Did your MPS fall in as well?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Tsk-tsk.’ Steve turned his head. Eye contact lasted for two seconds before the Agent’s gaze collapsed to the floor.
‘Commander!’
Steve’s vexation returned to the screen.
‘I do not think you understand how serious this is.’ Choo held up a silver MCD. ‘Captain Lacusta has completed his report. It says you did not notify the RS 26 Commandant about your mission. It also says one of your Advocates . . .’ Choo turned to Lacusta.
‘Sub-Lieutenant Bohdanke Krankavic, Admiral.’
‘Ah yes. Krankavic did not follow the correct procedure when a Prefect challenged. As Commander it is your responsibility.’
‘Yes, sir, but I don’t believe Advocate Krankavic ignored the procedure. I think the Prefect malfunctioned.’
‘From what I have read, Commander, it is you who malfunctioned. You take seven days leave and afterwards report to flight hub two as flight sentry. Any more problems and we will expel you. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. May I ask a question?’
Choo raised an eyebrow.
Steve took that as a yes. ‘Has there been any progress regarding Commander Valenbrotti’s assassination, sir?’
‘That is not your concern.’ Choo glanced sideways. ‘Captain Lacusta.’
Compared to Choo, Lacusta’s demeanour appeared almost friendly. ‘You must give your ID and Cogent to the Agents. Your privileges are annulled and you are restricted to the Black Zone.’ He ended with an incongruous smile.
Choo shattered any illusion of affability, ‘You are still under CONSEC regulations, you will not speak about operations, and you will not contact other Advocates.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take Captain Arrowsbury to the Black Zone.’
The Agent to Steve’s left puffed out his chest. ‘At once, sir.’
* * * *
Steve disembarked at Marble Arch and watched the black and silver patrol car screech away. It was time to visit Jason’s apartment.
11:28 SUN 29:10:2119
Black Zone, London, England, Sector 2
Pushing through the etched glass doors, Steve stepped into the foyer’s polished stone serenity.
Ahead, a full height mirror stood between two pairs of bronzed lift doors. While his tired eyes focused on the dishevelled reflection, a smile formed and a familiar voice echoed in the silence. ‘Move over, make way for the heart breaker.’ Jason liked mirrors.
Steve took the lift to the top floor and unlocked the door to apartment forty. Jason’s apartment, Steve’s second home.
An entertainment centre dominated the white walled lounge. Opposite the oversized leather settee, a viewscreen tall enough to step through covered half of one wall. It, like the advanced holographic technology it used, didn’t belong on Earth. Alex had become Jason’s friend for lif
e with that under-the-counter acquisition.
Steve showered, changed his clothes, and his identity. The disassembled Cogent had returned to its gunmetal box. A scan would identify it as a Spectral Analyser KV17, an acceptable piece of equipment for Nicholas Harding. A Drone television installer.
He returned to the living room where a metal vase of wilted flowers had shed petals onto the glass dining table. He’d considered removing them, but decided against it. That debt had yet to be collected.
Leaving the building, Steve walked to the nearest transit stop and took a twenty-minute bus ride to Pancras Road.
He stepped off onto the wet pavement and looked up. Above the towering glass and metal framed box, an indigo sign glowed against the forbidding sky. RAIL HUB 1-2.
The second pair of metal security doors opened into the concourse. On either side, vendors’ stalls squeezed between concrete columns. An impressive variety of goods, all substandard, and a few probably life threatening. Not that anyone complained. Continuity Barons operated the stalls; they paid their dues to the Ministry officials, and the vendors only sold to Drones.
Steve bought a ticket, passed through security, and crossed the lounge to the inclined autopave. He emerged diminutive under the monumental arched roof of glass and metal symmetry. The antique clock hanging below the roof apex ticked to twenty-five minutes past five.
Beneath the dazzling pavilion, the high-speed night liner’s polished livery gleamed. A metre high horizontal orange stripe dissected the four hundred metre silver javelin. Steve boarded carriage six.
His cabin had the aesthetic appeal of a mortuary. Its harsh lighting, easy clean surfaces, and perfunctory nature resembled the early designs for Provenance’s crew quarters. Designs that PSYOPS predicted would result in the human crewmembers killing themselves, and each other, long before Provenance found a habitable planet.
A low whine accompanied the sense of movement. As the whish-whish accelerated Steve lay down, he’d be in Lanztenstein in five hours.
An hour later, he finally gave in to the insomnia and made his way to the bar-car.