Provenance I - Flee The Bonds

by V J Kavanagh

  ‘So how ya doing, tomato head?’

  Steve rolled his right shoulder. ‘Not bad. Bit stiff.’

  ‘Yeah well, according to your buddy Shundo, he had to pop in ten big ones. Nasty cut.’

  Ten soft-tissue staples were more than Steve had anticipated. He switched the conversation back to Francois.

  ‘Have you heard from the Council?’

  ‘No, I have an exercise that starts on Wednesday, but that order came from CONSEC Command, as normal.’

  Dee’s head shook. ‘You still on about a conspiracy?’

  Steve met the narrow gaze, ‘Have you been on Provenance lately? It’s swarming with AHs and TYPEs. Continuity’s loading. Citadel’s locked down.’ He noted Francois’s attempt to cover a reaction. Perhaps that’s the que for the attack.

  Dee leant in, ‘Loading Continuity is an evac drill — it ain’t nothing unusual.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What were you doing in Citadel?’

  ‘I was going to speak with Tom Richards.’

  Dee flopped back in his chair. ‘How are a few thousand SIS gonna take control of Provenance?’ He tapped his temple, ‘You’re paranoid.’

  Francois rested his hand on Dee’s shoulder, ‘You cannot blame Steve for that. His flight left with a master alarm deactivated, that command can only be authorised from the bridge deck. Which I believe is controlled by CONSEC.’

  Steve sighed. ‘It is.’ Very clever, Francois. Scatter the seeds of confusion into an already churned up field.

  Francois stood and jabbed a glance at Dee. ‘We, will meet you in the conference room at—’ He raised his left wrist, ‘Ten?’

  ‘Ten’s fine.’

  ‘I will send for you breakfast, I have smoked bacon from Poitou-Charentes.’

  ‘Sounds great, thanks.’

  Steve watched them leave. The door closed and reopened, Francois’s head appeared. ‘Someone else to see you.’

  Alex closed the door behind him. In his left hand, he carried a green medpac. A flesh coloured bandage partially covered his right. His clothes, like him, had an air of freshness about them. He settled opposite. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m okay. Thanks for stitching me up, and the drugs, and for saving my life. It was you wasn’t it?’

  A modest smile accompanied Alex’s beaming eyes. ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘Heat. Smoke. Suffocating. Did something catch fire?’

  ‘No. Just a few melted conduits.’

  Steve nodded, that probably explained the disconcerting smell. ‘Did you speak to Admiral Smithson?’

  ‘I didn’t have time. I saw him speaking, well more like arguing, with Francois. I was more concerned about you.’

  Of course you were. ‘Why did you come after me? I told you to stay in the cabin.’

  There was a slight chest heave under the sky-blue roll-neck. Alex nodded at Steve’s MPS. ‘I modified your bio scan.’ He raised his left wrist and tapped his MPS. ‘I know when you’re in trouble.’

  That makes sense. Pity nothing else does. Steve nodded at the flesh coloured bandage. ‘How’s the hand?’

  Alex raised it and turned it over. ‘Fine, first degree, minor epidermal damage, no penetration to the dermis.’

  Steve thought of Penny; her injuries always took longer to explain as well. ‘Who applied the bandage?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What with, garden shears?’ Steve raised an eyebrow, ‘I hope my staples are neater than that.’

  Alex’s face curdled, ‘Perhaps I should have let Francois’s doctor take you to his clinic.’

  Steve raised his hand. ‘I’m sure you did a great job.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see won’t we? It’s time to change the dressing.’

  Too tired to argue, Steve led Alex to the bathroom and turned to face the full-width vanity mirror. Dee’s tomato analogy was spot on.

  He reached over his shoulders and pulled up his T-shirt, a mud coloured stain had spread out beneath the dressing’s plastic coating. Alex placed the medpac on the cream marble countertop and removed a large GelPlas. ‘This will hurt a little.’

  ‘Liar. Argh! You’re supposed to give the patient time to prepare.’

  Alex’s reflection appeared, the bloodstained dressing hanging between his thumb and index finger. His eyelids flickered, ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

  Steve pondered the reflection a second too long. Alex’s head tilted, ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Steve rotated his shoulder towards the mirror. A neat row of ten blue finger-width staples bridged a raw tear. ‘How long?’

  ‘With the GelPlas, two days.’ Alex ripped open a new dressing pack and removed the pad.

  ‘And the staples?’

  ‘Three.’

  Steve rubbed his stubbled cheek, ‘What about the rouge?’

  ‘Mild heat radiation, it’ll fade in a few days. Hold still.’

  Alex laid the dressing over the staples and pressed. The cooling took effect instantly.

  ‘All done, but no physical exertion. If you rip out the staples, you’ll need surgery.’ Alex zipped up the medpac, ‘I’ll see you at the meeting.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Francois invited me; he said I can stay here while you convalesce.’

  Surprise, surprise. ‘Very kind of him — I’ve decided not to mention Colossus.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I doubt anyone would believe us, and even if they did it might cause more problems than it solves. Let’s concentrate on the black Prefects.’ Steve doubted SIS would have told Francois about Colossus. He might decide to stay.

  ‘Okay.’

  As Alex turned to leave, Steve grabbed his arm, ‘Before you go, let’s sort out that bandage.’

  Alex yanked his arm away with surprising force. ‘It’s fine, I’ll fix it later.’

  ‘Quid quo pro, Alex.’ Steve held out his hand, ‘Come on.’

  The more Steve unwound the more he frowned. He placed the bandage on the marble top and looked up. ‘This is worse than you said, isn’t it?’

  Alex nodded.

  The dressing had matted to Alex’s palm; an ochre stain spread from the centre. Steve lifted the corner and peeled it away. He let go of Alex’s hand and stepped back. His wide eyes rising to Alex’s passive face before snapping back to the hand. The skin had split, its puckered edges encrusted in black. Through the split, a fine metallic mesh glinted.

  ‘You can’t be.’ Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, the flicker of a miracle snuffed out. Matt was still dead.

  Alex lowered his hand. ‘I am. Model MAA 21-40-02-98.’

  Steve exhaled. Whatever it was in front of him, he felt sure it didn’t intend to kill him. ‘You don’t smell.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. Why doesn’t your designation begin with AH?’

  ‘I’m unique. I won’t harm you; I’m here to help.’

  Steve stared. Hair, skin, nails, teeth, everything seemed natural, human. Perhaps he was unique. ‘That may not be up to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Steve pointed at Alex’s head, ‘Whatever’s in there isn’t necessarily under your control, and either way you wouldn’t know.’

  Alex reached into his mouth, twisted and pulled. ‘I share a common interface with other artificials.’ He pointed to the gap in his teeth. ‘But this is the only interface socket to my core and it can only be accessed if I remove the plug.’

  ‘Who made you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘When did you come on line?’

  ‘Twelve April 2115.’

  Steve’s mind painted a candlelit picture of a birthday cake with dyed coconut grass and white marzipan men. Matt loved cricket.

  ‘Can you alter your face?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  Steve compressed his lips. ‘No reason, it’s nearly perfect.’

  ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’ />
  Steve’s remorse surfaced and he masked it as he always did, with anger. ‘You’re a machine, what difference does it make?’ He leapt back, Alex’s balled fist struck the marble top sending a sickening ripple through the mirror above.

  ‘I AM NOT A MACHINE!’

  Steve raised both hands, ‘I’m sorry.’ He studied the reddened and contorted face’s recovery. ‘You’re certainly different. I’ve never seen an AH that can flush their skin.’

  Alex winked. ‘I know, sometimes I have to pinch myself.’

  Steve now realised that Alex’s mood swings weren’t psychological, they were hardcoded. SIS had tapped into his shell program, trapping the real Alex in the core. In light of Alex’s revelations, Steve assumed he occasionally broke free.

  After replacing his tooth, Alex glanced at his MPS. ‘You’ll have to hurry if you want breakfast before the meeting.’

  Steve nodded at Alex’s left wrist. ‘I assume you don’t need an MPS to tell the time?’

  ‘No, but I need to stay incognito.’

  ‘Why?’

  Alex’s face articulated perplexity. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s probably a good idea, at least until we find out who created you, and why.’ Steve had a skin tingly premonition that he was involved in the answer to both.

  He reapplied Alex’s bandage and handed him the medpac. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’

  As Alex opened the door, Steve grabbed his shoulder and peered out. A breakfast tray waited on a side table by the door. He closed the door. ‘Be aware, there are—’

  ‘Cameras in the bedrooms.’

  Steve smiled. ‘Yes, of course, you’d know that wouldn’t you.’

  * * * *

  Steve bowed his head to the man opening the conference room door, ‘Merci.’

  Francois had enthroned himself at the far end of the table beneath the gilded laurels, ‘Ah, bonjour, Steve.’ To his right sat Dee and the pasty-faced Morton, to his left the beaming Alex. Steve took his place next to Alex.

  Francois glanced across, ‘The Council have requested a CONSEC protection force for Provenance and Admiral Choo has agreed that you rejoin the Quad as my second-in-command.’

  Dee’s palms slapped the table. ‘That was my post!’

  Francois’s head spun. ‘Décorum s’il vous plait!’

  Dee withdrew his hands. Francois’s tone required no translation.

  ‘Steve is injured, until he has recovered it is your post, even though you did not attend the Academy.’

  Dee rubbed the back of his head, ‘Right, sorry.’

  ‘Bon. Steve will stay here with Alex and Morton. You and I must go to headquarters.’

  Steve’s gaze crossed the table to Morton’s imperious smile. He had no doubt that when SIS had what they wanted, they would kill him. He also, bizarrely, suspected Alex would defend him. ‘I’m well enough to travel.’

  Francois smiled. ‘Yes I know, but I need you to be recuperated. It is better you rest here.’ The smile dissipated. ‘Admiral Choo said that the Resistance have plans to attack installations. Each Advocate will command a CONSEC battalion to protect them.’

  In keeping with decorum, Steve lifted his hand.

  ‘Yes, Steve?’

  ‘Did you find out if the—?’

  Francois’s flashing MCD vibrated the tabletop.

  Seconds later, he raised his head. ‘The Council have issued a decree. Anyone suspected of aiding the Resistance is to be executed. All Drones are suspect.’

  Steve glanced around the table. Curtain up.

  11:07 SAT 04:11:2119

  Red Zone, London, England, Sector 2

  Francois looked up at the operations room viewscreen. Admiral Choo’s chin rested on the navy-blue mandarin collar, almost covering his five silver stars. Choo would have no rank in Francois’s new world.

  He and Dee had arrived at SOHQ ten minutes earlier and listened while Choo explained the Council’s decision to initiate the decree. The threat to Provenance and Continuity was so great that they had deployed every Quad. There would be no reserves.

  Francois understood why SIS would want that. As soon as Provenance was in their control, they would order their artificials to turn on their Advocate masters.

  Choo looked up, ‘Commander Thibeauchet. You will command force nineteen at RS 52.’

  Francois knew that order was for the benefit of Dee. La mascarade continue. ‘Yes, sir.’ His heart quickened. Dee stared at him, dark eyes locked in a frown. Francois stabbed a glance, but it was futile.

  Choo intervened, ‘Do you want to speak, Lieutenant Brandleson?’

  ‘Admiral, I don’t think a nutriment research site is a priority target.’

  ‘Why? Do you think food is not important?’

  ‘No, sir, I mean yes, sir, but MP 14 has been reconned, reconnoitred. I think it’s a target.’

  Choo’s eyes scurried right, to something or someone out of sight. He nodded once and redirected his scowl at Francois. ‘How do you know this?’

  Anger stiffened Francois’s shoulders. He had not realised the depth of Dee’s ambition. ‘I have received a report, sir.’

  ‘From who?’

  Desperation replaced Francois’s anger. This was dangerous. If SIS discovered he had one of their HPUs they would execute him. If he allowed Dee to discover SIS’s plans for Steve, they would execute them both. ‘It was anonymous, sir.’

  Admiral Choo’s face softened as it turned to Dee. ‘Is that true, lieutenant?’

  Dee raised his chin towards Francois; defiance flared bright, ‘No, sir.’

  Francois pleaded through his eyes.

  Choo wrenched their attention back to the screen, ‘Lieutenant!’

  ‘Captain Arrowsbury told us, sir. He led the reconnaissance.’

  Francois accelerated his délibération. The difference between life and death was the difference between thinking and acting. His lips curved into a broad smile. ‘Captain Arrowsbury is helping my investigation. When it is finished I will have the name of the Resistance leader in Western Europe.’

  Choo’s eyebrows arched, ‘Why did you say anonymous?’

  Francois jabbed his gaze right. ‘I am sorry Admiral, but Lieutenant Brandleson sometimes talks too much. For that reason, I have not discussed the investigation with him.’

  Dee’s face twisted, ‘What! You’re keeping tabs on him for SIS!’

  Francois sighed, ‘You can see, he has not enough sang-froid.’

  ‘Where is Captain Arrowsbury?’

  Francois stiffened. ‘He is at my home, sir.’ The screen blanked. He continued to stare ahead, ignoring the wrath of Dee’s glare.

  Choo’s face returned, ‘Commander Thibeauchet, you go to your home and continue with investigation. Captain Arrowsbury must not leave.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘Lieutenant Brandleson, you are promoted to Captain. You command force three and protect MP 14.’

  Francois’s eyes slewed right. White teeth split Dee’s anthracite jaw. ‘Yes, sir!’

  The CONSEC rings replaced Choo’s face. Francois turned, ‘You have what you want yes?’

  Dee stepped closer. ‘We’ve all gotta choose sides Francois. You, me, and Steve are all supposed to be fighting for the same thing, but sometimes I get the feeling I’m the only one who’s fighting for what matters.’

  Francois glared, ‘You are wrong Capitaine. It is I who fights the juste cause.’

  Dee’s bulk leant towards him, ‘CONSEC will look after Steve now, he doesn’t need you or your SIS buddies.’

  Before he could respond, Dee’s MPS emitted a dull buzz.

  ‘Orders are in.’ Dee flashed a smile. ‘Thanks for looking after my family, I owe you for that — and if anything happens to them while I’m away, I’ll owe you for that as well.’

  Francois returned the amiability, ‘Bonne chance.’

  He watched Dee close the door. Fool. He
would never see his family again. SIS had sentenced him to death, but it would be the Resistance who executed him.

  Francois authenticated at the desk and activated the viewscreen. The communication uplink connected, but the screen remained blank.

  ‘Yes.’

  He swallowed. ‘The person we protect was on flight 4518. Is that person valuable still?’

  ‘Yes. We were aware of the flight, its problems and its passengers. It was by our design. Why did you not report the incursion into MP 14?’

  ‘I have not finished my report. There is much data to compile.’

  ‘You will submit your report in two days.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you for your diligence, Commander. Your continued support will enhance your reward.’

  The screen flickered and died. Why had they sabotaged Steve’s flight? Francois’s enhanced reward posed no questions; it would be termination without the prerequisite torture.

  13:56 SAT 04:11:2119

  MP 14, Neuhame, Austria, Sector 2

  Dee’s combat boots left a trail of sandy footprints across the sodden asphalt. The cold unrelenting misery dripped off his helmet and onto his glistening protector-plates. It hadn’t stopped raining since their arrival at MP 14 an hour ago.

  Dark clouds had formed during the flight, but he’d had no choice. The reason why SIS were protecting Steve wasn’t important. What was important was CONSEC knew Dee wasn’t involved. His promotion confirmed he’d made the right decision, for him and Steve.

  He’d just returned from the Anti-Personnel Batteries on the riverbank. Three covered the opposing bank, and one the weir causeway. If the Resistance attempted a river crossing, the auto-targeting APBs would chew them up before they left the far shore.

  He stopped and blinked up into the rain. On top of the two-storey concrete building to his right, a crouching Defender lowered his XH-34A assault rifle and nodded.

  Twenty Defenders covered the roofs of the five production buildings and five Air Defence Rails the skies. Not that he expected the Resistance to have any air tech.

  Dee continued along the paved apron. Its one kilometre length and thirty-metre width separated the gigantic production buildings on his right, from the smaller administration buildings on his left. Only the administration buildings had windows, and they, like the doors, faced the apron.