In the Gleaming Light

by H. R. Moore

  IN THE GLEAMING LIGHT

  By HR Moore

  Published by Harriet Moore

  Copyright 2019 HR Moore

  Titles by HR Moore:

  The Relic Trilogy:

  Legacy of the Mind

  Origin of the Body

  Design of the Spirit

  In the Gleaming Light

  http://www.hrmoore.com

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  For all who care about the future.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CONNECT WITH HR MOORE

  PROLOGUE

  Summer 2048.

  Tension cracked across the air as Iva let the silence reach discomfort. She never missed an opportunity to play with her prey, not when she had them cornered. The big dogs of industry, originating from privilege and comfort, full of the arrogant belief that they alone were the only ones in the world who could do what they do. Until they absently wandered into her sights, of course. Their egos ensured overconfidence from the off, approaching her with easy self-assurance, full of the knowledge that they could swat her away, like an insect, as they had with all the others before her.

  Somewhere along the line they’d have the moment of realisation. They would see that this deep-seated belief was wrong, that she, Senior Investigator of the Enforcement Office, was going to take them down, and there wasn’t a single thing they could do to stop it. At that moment, their eyes filled with fear, knowing they should have played the whole thing differently. They knew they had long ago crossed the line at which a deal could be agreed, knew they were finished, and it was all their own, haughty, self-important fault.

  It had taken until today, until the noose was around Richard Murphy’s neck, for him to show her the look she had known would eventually come. She sat back and savoured it, letting it roll around her mind, firing off sparks of pleasure as she gave it her full focus. It had been people like Richard who had stolen her future, and now she enjoyed taking things they held dear. A small, wry smile crept to her usually hard, thin lips when she deemed the silence to have lasted just long enough.

  ‘You will clean out your whole management team,’ she said, in a matter of fact tone. ‘Every, single, one. And the new managers you bring in will be paid twenty percent below the two hundred and fifty thousand pound cap.’

  ‘Are you trying to kill my company? Is that what you want out of this?’ Richard looked Iva square in the eye, his poise still impeccable, the result of a lifetime of tough negotiations following an even tougher upbringing. ‘The UK is the envy of the world. Our engineering is second to none. Our robots fill homes and businesses everywhere. This company has been instrumental in that, and now you’re cutting my feet out from under me? Do you have any idea how hard it is to find managers who understand engineering? It’s taken me the best part of twenty years to build my team.’

  ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m letting you stay on to do it again,’ Iva replied, her tone sharp, with not even a hint of mercy.

  ‘You’re letting me stay on because I haven’t done anything wrong. You have no grounds to remove me.’

  Iva nodded to Mila, her deputy, before turning her bored gaze to the window. Mila pulled out a rack of paper files and placed them, one after another, on the table directly in front of Richard. This was Iva’s sense of humour; presenting her evidence in paper form to those for whom technology was the only way. She saw Richard wince and laughed inside.

  ‘As per our numerous previous discussions,’ Mila started, like a teacher explaining simple facts to an impertinent child, ‘you have done many things which contravene the regulations under which businesses in the UK must operate. You have paid your managers too much,’ she said, indicating the first file, ‘and yes, I know,’ cutting off Richard’s protest before he had a chance to start it, ‘you haven’t paid them more than the cap in terms of base wages. However, you have paid them excessively in terms of perks: lavish company cars, disproportionate personal use of corporate assets, holidays paid for under the pretence of being business trips. Need I go on?’

  ‘I like to thank the people who have helped me make my company what it is today.’

  ‘Your father’s company, you mean?’ Iva shot back, her head lazily turning from the window to take in his reaction.

  ‘And there it is,’ said Richard, shaking his head. ‘The real reason you came after me. You think I only have this job because my father had it before me?’ He laughed.

  Indeed, there it is, thought Iva, the God complex. Richard was just like all the others; she could practically see the thoughts whirring through his head: Only I, or maybe a small handful of others like me, are capable of doing a job such as this. And you, in your insignificant little job, would not understand the magnitude of what we do here.

  ‘I know that’s the only reason you have this job,’ said Iva, her eyes locked with his.

  ‘But you can’t prove it,’ he sneered, ‘because it’s bullshit. So you’ve come after me for any other reason you can find. And now I’ve got to sack my best people, who have given years of their lives to this company. Who will, incidentally, be immediately snapped up by my competitors, because you have a massive chip on your bony little shoulder.’

  ‘Competition is good for the economy,’ said Iva, idly.

  ‘It is when it’s fair. But you’re rigging the market to suit your philosophy. Helping those you deem worthy because they, like you, come from nothing. That’s not what I’d call fair free market economics.’

  ‘Those claims are slanderous, Mr Murphy, and if you repeat them, you may find it costs you your job,’ said Mila.

  ‘I’ll be interested to see who you go after next then; someone with a background like mine, or someone with one like yours? Out of your last six big attacks, five have been on people like me, and we all know your next target anyway...’ Richard stopped before he went too far. He hated Iva and everything she stood for, but she’d successfully made him respect her ability to make his life a living hell.

  ‘I would say those ratios are broadly in line with the number of people in jobs like yours from our respective backgrounds. Now, I think we’re done here,’ she said, pushing back her chair and heading for the exit in her flat black shoes. Richard refrained from seeing them out.

  The lift pinged and Iva and Mila got in, both women turning to watch as Richard slumped into one of his boardroom chairs.

  ‘Maybe we should hold off going after Guy for a while,’ said Mila, the hesitation clear in her voice.

  ‘Mila,’ said Iva, slowly, savouring the word in her mouth. ‘I know you and Guy have history, but I trust that won’t cloud your judgement. I’m more than happy to remove you from the case if you can’t be impartial.’

  Mila’s features formed a controlled, professional mask. ‘No, of course I don’t want that. It’ll be the case of the decade...’ she said, as the lift doors opened, Iva striding purposefully away across the reception area, ‘...if the allegations are true.’

  CHAPTER 1

  Freddie sat in the shadowy corner behind the counter of his uncle’s dry-cleaning shop. It was down a seedy looking side alley off the main shopping street in Exeter, and he was often left to sit here while his mother ran e
rrands or went to gossip with friends. He tried to make himself invisible, to vanish into the shadows. Luckily he was small, “a runt of a boy” according to his uncle, which meant it was easy for people to overlook him, or pretend he wasn’t there.

  The doorbell gave a curt dink and his uncle, John, barely even looked up as the door swung closed, a lady with a dress approaching the counter. John was playing a game on his tablet and didn’t appreciate interruptions. The lady appraised him, unconcerned about hiding her disapproving features as she took in his unshaven face, greasy hair, and lack of customer service. She hasn’t spotted me, thought Freddie, triumphantly.

  ‘Yes?’ John finally asked, begrudgingly tearing his eyes from his tablet.

  The woman’s gaze lingered just a little too long on the tablet to mistake what she was thinking: old school hardware. John’s tablet was a relic from more than a decade before, but he wouldn’t part with it; he could be sentimental like that.

  ‘Hi,’ said the lady, in a sweet, overly pleasant voice, having shifted her features into a more composed arrangement. ‘I’ve got this really important launch event for my art tomorrow night, and I have only one dress that’s appropriate. But as you can see,’ she said, lifting the dress onto the worn old counter, ‘it has a very obvious stain, here.’ She pointed to a large round blot over the left breast area and looked up imploringly at John.

  Freddie’s eyes went wide as he recognised the woman: Lulu Banks, world famous artist. She’d grown up in this city so everyone knew who she was; everyone except John it would seem, whose hard features hadn’t softened a bit.

  John shrugged. ‘I could do it for you,’ he said, hope shining on Lulu’s face, ‘but not before next Tuesday.’

  ‘Next Tuesday?’ she blurted, giving him a pitiful look. ‘But I need it for tomorrow tonight,’ she reminded him, her frustration visible, lingering just beneath the surface.

  John’s face set hard and Freddie knew he wouldn’t budge. The life of a dry cleaner didn’t afford much in the way of status, which meant his uncle enjoyed these little power trips all the more. ‘We’re at capacity, with the working hours restrictions, you know,’ John said, meaningfully, shrugging once more. He went back to playing the snake game on his tablet and Lulu picked up her dress with a little more force than was strictly necessary, and left the shop, pulling the door closed just a little too hard behind her.

  Silence settled on the room, just the incessant tapping of John’s finger on the screen breaking it. Freddie rustled uncomfortably, knowing he should say something, but not wanting to incur his uncle’s wrath. John was doing his best to ignore the irritation.

  ‘Um...’ said Freddie, in a small and nervous voice, after a full minute of building up the courage to speak.

  ‘What now?’ barked John.

  ‘Do you know who that was?’

  ‘No,’ he said, unconcernedly. ‘She said she was some artist. What’s that to me?’

  ‘She’s Lulu Banks. Some guys were talking at the factory...Guy Strathclyde’s been after her for ages,’ he said, in barely more than a whisper. The factory, where his mother worked, was another place where Freddie regularly found himself abandoned.

  ‘Guy Strathclyde?’

  ‘Ah...yes,’ he said, sheepishly, willing the shadows to conceal him, lest a casual kick or punch find its way in his direction. But, to his great relief, John leapt up, yanked open the door, and ran up the steps after Lulu without so much as a glance in his direction.

  * * * * *

  Lulu had her head down, purposefully striding towards the shops at the newer end of the high street, where the more salubrious outfitters could be located. She was raging inside, about how stupid she’d been to leave the dry cleaning so late, about how stupid she’d been not to have a backup, and about how ridiculous it was that they’d invented robots that could do bloody everything, but dry cleaning had somehow fallen off the to-do list. And that smug, greasy man behind the desk...

  ‘Lulu?’ asked a tall, lean man in an expensive suit. His blonde wavy hair was at odds with his smart attire, somehow making him look casually dressed, and Lulu always found his deep brown eyes surprising.

  ‘Do you dye your hair?’ she blurted.

  ‘It’s nice to see you too!’

  ‘You’ve got brown eyes and blonde hair,’ she said, as though this were enough of an explanation.

  ‘I sometimes get it highlighted, but it’s naturally fairly blonde. Lighter in the summer, I guess, which is what it is now,’ he said, indicating up at the blazing sunshine. ‘Is everything okay? You look kind of pissed off.’

  She took a deep breath, her petite shoulders rising and her head tilting backwards, sending her long auburn hair cascading down her back. Guy raised an eyebrow as she exhaled her head forward. ‘I’ve got a big exhibition opening tomorrow in St Ives.’

  ‘I know, I’m coming.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, genuinely surprised.

  Guy paused, smiling as he looked her up and down. ‘Because I very much like your work.’

  ‘Do you even know what my work looks like?’ she asked, not unkindly, but her tone full of scepticism.

  He gave her a look before ignoring her question. ‘So, the exhibition opens tomorrow night...’ he prompted, indicating with his hand that she should go on.

  ‘And I only have one dress that’s suitable, and it has a stain on it, and I’ve visited five dry cleaners and none of them can do it in time because of the ludicrous working hours restrictions,’ she tumbled. ‘So now I’m going to have to go and buy another dress, which will probably take the rest of the day knowing my luck, and I have far more important exhibition related activities to attend to.’

  ‘I see,’ Guy said, nodding his head seriously, but a mocking edge creeping into his eyes.

  ‘You think this is funny.’

  ‘No. I’m wondering why you don’t just use your smart glasses and butlerbot to find something. You’ve been an artist for years; the butler should have enough data to select something suitable.’

  ‘I don’t let my smart glasses gather too much data, and I don’t have a butler. I think it’s kind of creepy; a robot living in your house, gathering intelligence...I try not to be overly connected.’

  Guy took a deep breath. ‘In which case, I can sort this problem with a quick phone call to one of the shops round the corner. I buy a lot of clothes from them and I’m sure they can help you out.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. What an artist wears speaks volumes.’

  At that moment, a large man came lumbering towards the pair. He was approaching Lulu’s back, his hand outstretched. Guy saw him and grabbed Lulu, spinning them both around, putting himself in between her and this strange attacker. The man staggered straight into Guy, now off balance with the last-minute adjustment required, knocking him forcefully into Lulu and almost toppling all three of them. Guy straightened, checked Lulu was okay, and then turned to face their assailant.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ he questioned.

  ‘The dress,’ the man wheezed, stretching out his hand in the direction of Lulu’s soiled garment. ‘I’ll have it done by tonight.’

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’ asked a suspicious Lulu. ‘Why the sudden change of heart, Mr. I-can-do-it-but-only-for-next-Tuesday?’

  The man shot a meaningful glance in Guy’s direction, then snatched the dress and shuffled off towards his shop.

  Lulu rolled her eyes. ‘Seriously? Are you like the Mafia or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ he laughed, ‘although I do like those old gangster movies; The Godfather’s my favourite.’

  ‘Can you imagine waking up with a severed horse’s head in your bed?’

  ‘You’ve watched them?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. A friend made me sit through them.’

  ‘A friend with good taste.’

  ‘He certainly seems to think so.’

  ‘Boyfriend
?’ asked Guy, a moment of tense hesitation crossing his features.

  ‘Ha! No. Never. Just a friend.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said, visibly relieved, ‘there’s a great lunch place just up here; you could use a good meal after the near trauma of this morning,’ he laughed, eyes glinting.

  ‘I told you, I have loads of stuff to do for my exhibition,’ she said, flirting just a little.

  ‘Coffee then. That won’t take long, and I have just saved you from an afternoon of shopping.’

  ‘I really do have too much to do. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let me at least walk you to your car then. I’d hate for you to be waylaid by some other incident without me around to protect your honour.’

  ‘Are you always this persistent?’

  ‘It’s my thing.’

  She rolled her eyes again and started walking, her pace brisk. ‘I haven’t got a car. I’m going to St Ives on the hyper-train.’

  ‘What? Let me lend you my car. I don’t need it until I come down to St Ives tomorrow evening.’

  ‘That’s crazy! We’ve basically only just met. You don’t know me anywhere near well enough to lend me your car.’

  ‘Come on, we’re friends.’

  ‘We’ve seen each other, what, like four times?’

  ‘It’s not like you can crash it; it drives itself. And it has a GPS tracker, so I’ll know where it is.’

  ‘Now you want to track my whereabouts?’ she teased.

  It was Guy’s turn to roll his eyes. ‘Just take the car.’

  ‘No,’ she said, finally, as they reached the train station.

  ‘Come on. Be reasonable.’

  ‘No,’ she repeated, laughing, while looking him straight in the eye to invite his next move.

  ‘Did you actually just stamp your foot?’ he joked.

  ‘Goodbye Guy,’ she said, with a smile.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, finally relenting. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow night then.’