by Lara Morgan
He leaned against the shining wall of the lift and massaged the muscles on his thigh. His leg still ached occasionally from the shot he’d taken up in Gondwana.
The lift chimed and the doors slid open. “Welcome home, Dalton.” The mechanical woman’s voice sounded again. He tossed the activation set for the car AI on the hallstand and headed across the pale stone floor to the great room. A wall of heat-shielded plasglass gave a view over the city to the river and beyond. The whirling lights of shuttles, helijets and a few Central-owned jumpers cruised soundlessly through the air like bugs attracted to the light.
Two long curving red sofas faced each other and large artworks depicting garish scenes and colours that were supposed to liven up the white space hung on the walls. Dalton had never liked them. He kicked off his shoes and, leaving them in the middle of the floor, headed past the spiralling stairs that led to his parents’ rooms. He heard a soft footfall above. His mother? She was supposed to be on one of her benders somewhere. He stopped and listened but heard nothing more. With a frown, he headed for his room.
One third of the lower floor of the penthouse was taken up by his and his dead brother’s rooms. Chris had always had the larger space. A massive bedroom with a view out to the ocean and an entertainment chamber with all the immersion games, Grid-connect computers and tech money could buy, whereas Dalton’s rooms were smaller, faced east. He only had low-tech music systems and instruments in his entertainment pod. Chris had been seventeen when he died eight years ago. His father had told Dalton to move into his brother’s rooms, but he’d never been able to. It felt wrong. He preferred his own, the comfort of his guitars and the small piano his mother had bought for him. A relic from a backward age, his father liked to say.
A better age, Dalton thought privately. He swiped his thumb over the reader and the door slid back to admit him.
“Dalton?”
He turned. His mother was there, barefoot, too thin, trailing streamers of material from her gauzy dress. Her beautiful face had cost a fortune. Sculpted cheekbones, thick long honey-coloured hair and green eyes that had once been the same hazel colour as his own. But nothing could fix what lay behind those eyes. She was haunted by grief over the son she’d lost.
“Dalton, darling, I heard you come in.” Her smile was tremulous. “Why didn’t you come see me?”
“I didn’t realise you were home,” Dalton said. “When did you get back?”
“Oh, um, this morning, I think.” She blinked, confused.
“And how’s Kal?” Dalton asked. “Was he with you in the islands? Did he keep you company?” He suddenly wanted to hurt her. She thought he didn’t know of her affair with her image maker.
She frowned. “Of course. How else would I know what to wear? Would you rather I went alone? Your father won’t go, you know that, and I had to … had to go … I had to …” She trailed off, eyes filling with tears. Her gaze fell on the door to Chris’s rooms and she flinched, drawing her arms around herself.
Words Dalton had been about to say died before they reached his lips. He stepped towards her. “Mother–”
She drew back. “Have you got anything, son? A small wire of stim, ghost powder? It would make me feel better. Your father’s men took all mine away.” Her lower lip trembled. “Can you maybe find some for me?”
Every time. He fell for this every time.
“No.”
“Son, please …”
Without answering, he entered his room and locked the door, leaning against it. He listened while she hovered there. Something hard and aching filled his throat. Finally, she went away.
A training bag was beside the door and he punched it once, hard, then hung on to it while it swung, trying to swallow the pain down. It wasn’t the recoiling, the way she couldn’t stand to touch him, that bothered him any more. She’d stopped touching him after Chris died. After eight years you got used to it. It was the wheedling, her need for the drugs, for anything that would close her mind to reality. Sometimes he wished she would take too much, close herself off for good. At least, then it would be over.
He went to the com and sent a ping to their assistant.
“Dalton?” Pilar’s face appeared in the screen. “You’re home very late. It’s after eleven.”
“I know. Mother needs some rest. Will you give her some fruit tea, and make sure some of the sweet dreams is in it?”
Pilar’s expression softened. “Of course, and anything for you, love?”
Dalton’s heart turned a little at the endearment. “No. I ate out.” He switched the com off before she asked anything more. Pilar had been with them since he was six and knew all there was to know about their family dynamics. But he didn’t want her sympathy now.
He walked across the plush carpeting through another door to his entertainment pod. Five guitars, the piano, two kettle drums and an assortment of AIs that could provide orchestral backing if he wanted it, were placed about the soundproof room.
“Play music. Random select.” Dalton spoke to the room AI and strumming guitar chords came through the invisible speakers.
A long narrow window looked out to the hills surrounding the city, but Dalton ignored the view and went to the wall instead. He wiggled his fingers along the thin slit in the soundproofing until he felt the switch, and pressed. A section slid away revealing a narrow hiding spot where he kept his research and the recordings he made for his Rogue Waves broadcasts, the illegal anonymous hacks he ran in the news waves. He had other items stashed at the beach house, but this room was more secure, despite his parents living here as well. They couldn’t come in here if he locked it. Not without overriding the system.
He pulled out his gear, setting it up, connecting it through the secure line that couldn’t be traced. He’d been thinking hard about what sort of broadcast to make next. Something that would really rile his dad.
Since Rosie had told him his dad’s name was definitely on the Pantheon list, he’d been trying to think of a way to get his father to reveal if he was Helios straight down the line, or if he was involved with Agent Sulawayo’s rebellion in the ranks. Part of him wanted to believe the best of his father, to hold on to the hope that he was the one wanting to change Helios, to make it better. But the reality of the kind of man his dad was made it hard. Jebediah Curtis valued profit over philanthropy. Curtis and Co was one of the most powerful corporations on the planet. They owned the water resources on Titan, held half the colonisation ships that went out to Gliese, not to mention the terraforming contracts for the UEC.
And then there was Chris. His older brother and his dad had fought, a lot. Chris hated what the company stood for and hadn’t been afraid to say it. Then Chris had died from the MalX. A disease Helios had created. Dalton’s lips clenched as he slipped on the Rogue Waves headset and flicked the systems on, pinging the signal through a thousand different points on the globe so it couldn’t be tracked.
“This one’s for you, Dad,” he whispered and began to type furiously on the holo board. Across the city the Senate news waves froze in place and the Rogue Waves strip began scrolling over every screen linked to the Grid.
Think you know Curtis and Co? Think again. Links have been found between the corporation and Helios. There’s a secret group who run Helios called the Pantheon. A list of five names. No one knows who they are, or where they are, but Rogue Waves does. And one of the names on that list is Jebediah Curtis, the very man you trust to cart our water, terraform our planets and take us out to Gliese. Do you still trust him now? Rogue Wavers, fight for our freedom.
Dalton’s hands were shaking as he signed off and powered down. A sick scared feeling lay in his stomach. He was sure he couldn’t have jeopardised Rosie by putting that out there. If his dad was with Sulawayo, he would already be aware that Rosie knew his name was on the Pantheon list, and if he wasn’t, then he didn’t see how he could know Rosie had the list. She should be okay. But it would upset his dad, and the Senate wouldn’t be able to ignore it, not wit
h the major campaign they’d launched so publicly against Helios. Maybe it would shake him up enough to make a mistake, but until then …
Dalton stashed his gear in the alcove and drew out a slim stylus he’d had made months before he even knew who Rosie Black was. It was a replica of his father’s security coded device. The best he could get made. The tapered black tube gleamed in the light. He’d used it four times already without result, but it had become habit whenever his dad was away to check things. He shoved it in his pocket. He would probably find nothing again, but it was worth a try.
He left his rooms and walked on bare feet up the stairs to his parents’ floor.
It was after one in the morning and all was quiet. To his right was the entrance to his mother’s suite and Pilar’s room. To his left his father’s room and straight ahead his office.
He pulled out the stylus and held it to the lock. A soft whirr and the door slid back. Dalton reached around the inside and shoved the tip of the stylus into the security plate. There was the softest of beeps and a light that had been blinking in the centre of the ceiling went out.
Jebediah’s office was dominated by a huge solid wood desk. Old-fashioned, antique and with the top covered in a sheet of bio interface holo. It represented his father perfectly: handsome, rich with a sheen of high tech.
Behind the desk was a floor to ceiling pane of curved plasglass with views of the city. One wall of the office was covered in bookshelves filled with priceless paper books. They had stopped being produced in the early twenty- second century, and the other was a floor-to-ceiling bank of holos and interface coms.
Dalton closed the door and wondered where to start. He didn’t bother with the desk. The bio interface was linked to his dad’s DNA and impenetrable. He’d tried numerous times already. He drummed his fingers on his leg. Maybe the wall of holos again? But he’d gone through them last time and found only Curtis and Co files and documents. He stood undecided in the middle of the room. Wait, what about the books? Too precious to be touched, let alone read, they were purely for display.
He approached the shelves. A protective energy shield encased them, and it took him nearly ten frustrating minutes to figure out how to disable it. Finally, he found the coded switch on the floor underneath a false board. He read slowly across the spines.
Mysteries, crime, books about history, geography, novels hundreds of years old. He stopped. It had to be that one, only his father would align himself with the story of a man who bested the gods. He gently slipped the copy of The Odyssey off the shelf. It had a hard cover and, when he opened it, the pages were soft and fine as old leaves. He flicked through page after page. Nothing but words. He began to put it back, when he noticed something between the spine and pages catching the light, a tiny glimmer. He held it up to his eye. Something was there. Dalton eased it out. It was a thin silver storage chit, the length of his forefinger and almost as thin as plaspaper. Excitement made his heart race. How to read it?
He went to the desk, feeling along the narrow shelf underneath the desktop that held general office supplies. There were three ordinary readers there for various sized devices, no security coding on them. Dalton found one that fit and inserted the chit. The blue screen came to life and a line of numbers scrolled across. Code. Dalton swore, then froze as he heard sounds coming from downstairs. A deep voice. Pilar’s answering tone. His father was home.
He slipped the chit and reader into his pocket, then shoved the book on the shelf and switched the shield back on, checking the room in case he’d left any trace. Nothing he could see.
Chest tight with fear, he activated the door, ready to make up some excuse. All he saw though was Pilar’s back at the bottom of the stairs. She was facing towards the kitchen where his father must have gone. Dalton reactivated the security and locked the door again. When he turned back Pilar was looking straight up the stairs at him. They regarded each other, then with a quick glance in his father’s direction Pilar headed for the kitchen saying, “Let me make you something to eat, Mr Curtis.”
Dalton jogged downstairs and headed straight to his room. That had been too close. He wondered what the hell his dad was doing back so early. He was supposed to be in the American Republic for another day at least. Had he seen the Rogue Wave he’d sent? He hadn’t counted on his dad being back in the city for it – but maybe that was a good thing. He could observe his reactions firsthand. But first he had to crack this code and get the chit back into the office. Dalton frowned at the numbers. It seemed simple enough, and he’d always been good at this sort of thing.
He sat down on the floor and began to work out the system. It was surprisingly easy. Less than twenty minutes later he had it. It was simple, far too simple. Either his father hadn’t had time to do more, or he hadn’t been concerned about it being found. Dalton read through the short note his father must have written. It was addressed only to S. Could that be Sulawayo? Possibly, or a thousand other people.
Keep applying pressure to gain information. We need those gate plans, the list and any other information she has, it’s paramount to our cause, as is the boy. Ensure she is protected from attempts to access the implant. Awaiting your report.
The gate plans must be the Equinox Gate, the instructions for building the wormhole gate to the outer planets that Rosie had in her implant. She had the only copy since they’d destroyed the base where Helios had been constructing it a few months ago. And the boy was probably Pip. It all read like his dad was part of the rebellion, even possibly leading it. Or did it? Was he making assumptions?
Dalton ran his finger over the reader. He wanted to believe, but years of living with his father made it hard. Jebediah Curtis was not a man to do anything for altruistic reasons. Not that he’d seen anyway.
He put down the reader and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping much since Rosie left and didn’t remember the last time he’d woken up feeling any good. His mind was fuzzy, confused. Get it together, Dalton. She’s relying on you. He took in a long breath and checked the time. Nearly two o’clock.
The AI had probably informed his father he was home – what time he’d come in and that his room lights were still on. Better to go out to see him than have him knocking on his door. He stashed the reader and chit in his hiding spot and went out to the kitchen.
His father was sitting at the long glossy table, a plate of steamed vegetables in front of him. He was reading something on one of his company holos. He regarded Dalton with a faintly disappointed expression. “You’ve been out late again.”
Hello to you too, Dalton thought, but he only said, “I was catching up with some of the Hover Hockey boys.”
“I thought you hadn’t been playing because of your leg.”
“I haven’t, but they’re still my friends.” Dalton slouched down in a chair at the other end of the table. “There’s no law against seeing your friends, is there?”
Jebediah said nothing. He was a well-built man, not quite as tall as Dalton, but he had an air about him that made him seem the tallest, most dominant man in the room. His hair was dark, cut short and styled well, but streaked through with grey at the temples. Unlike most Centrals, he had no patience for cosmetic enhancement. He let his age show. A deep furrow was etched between his eyebrows and fine lines radiated from his eyes and across his forehead. It only made him appear distinguished, formidable. Charismatic, people called him. Dalton called him other things. Tyrant. Cold. Impossible to please.
“That bike accident has put you a long way behind, son,” his dad said. “Don’t fall into the party scene and throw all your previous hard work away.”
“I’m not in the party scene; it was a few drinks with friends.”
“And what does your coach think about that?”
“He’ll be fine.” The coach would accept whatever excuse he gave. He was a Curtis and it was family money that kept the team afloat. Which was lucky because he hadn’t seen his hockey team mates for weeks, and if his father dug too deep, he might fin
d out there hadn’t been a bike accident either. He’d injured his leg when he was shot in Gondwana Nation helping Rosie destroy the base. But if his dad really was with Sulawayo’s rebellion, or the leader of it, he’d know he’d been up there. He would know everything. So why hide it? What was his agenda? An ache built on confusion and weariness stung the back of his eyeballs, and Dalton went to the cool unit for a drink. “So where’s Pilar?” he asked.
“Gone to bed. It is late, son. And your mother?”
“Sleeping.” Dalton shut the cool unit and leaned against it, playing with a plascan of juice.
His dad studied Dalton over the rim of his wine glass. “Did you see her when you came in? Is she clean?”
“You had one of your men search her at the door, don’t you know?”
But his father wasn’t rising to the bait. “It’s for her own good. I have to protect her from herself.”
“I suppose you know best.”
His dad put down his glass then rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands together. “Everything I do, everything, is for the good of this family, for the good of everyone. I know you don’t always like what our company does, but sometimes we have to make hard choices, son. We are building a better world and that is not an easy task.”
Dalton pressed his lips together. He wanted to ask his father if he thought he’d been doing the right thing for his other son when he’d left Chris out in the MalX-infested ruins of the old city, but he kept silent.
Jebediah exhaled and said softly, “It seems there are some who are out to destroy us though.”
A beat started at the base of Dalton’s throat. “I thought there always was.”
“This is different. That Rogue Waver put out a broadcast, not that long ago actually, claiming I am involved with Helios. You didn’t see it?”
“I’ve been off Grid.”
“And probably best you stay off for the time being.” Jebediah was watching him closely. “Despite the Waver’s complete lack of evidence this will cause problems. The Senate and UEC will not be able to let it go. I’ve already been fielding panicked queries from our holdings all over the planet.”