by Ian Whates
This was a desperate flight and one which Philip had never truly expected to make. He knew his safeguards were good, but he had a feeling so was the hound. Even so, as his consciousness returned fully to his physical body, he dared to hope that he might just have got away with it.
Philip sat up, gasping for breath and conscious of his pounding heart. He pulled the studs from his ears and ripped the mesh cage away from his head, dragging the blinders off his eyes in the process, before flinging the whole contraption down onto the floor. Philip Kaufman was rarely fazed but the past couple of days were proving eventful, to say the least; few things scared him, but what he had sensed pursuing him just then did.
"Phil, is there anything attempting to trace me?"
"Not as far as I can see."
"So the indications are..."
"... that you got away with it, yes."
Hardly a cast-iron guarantee, but better than nothing. No harm in double-checking, though. "Run a systems check. Any trace of intrusion, or of anything knocking on the door during the past five minutes, I want to know about it."
"Checking now. I'll get back to you."
While he waited for his partial's report, Philip reached for the applicator, a little dismayed at how much his hand shook. He took a few seconds to steady himself before jettisoning the spent red bulb and replacing it with a green one. He then lifted the applicator quickly to his neck and positioned it over the carotid artery before triggering, so that the addiction inhibitor was delivered to the brain as swiftly as possible. He sat there with eyes closed, waiting for the temptation to load another red ampoule to fade, while fearing, as ever, that this time it wouldn't, that the inhibitor would have no effect at all. Slowly the craving subsided, not disappearing entirely but at least reaching a point where it was manageable. He knew that from here it would soon slip away until he could pretend not to notice it at all.
When Phil did report back a few seconds later, it was to confirm the same thing as before: there was no sign of any continued pursuit. So why did Philip still feel so uneasy? Why did he have the nagging sense that perhaps he hadn't escaped as cleanly as he seemed to have done?
CHAPTER SIX
Philip tended to work from home most of the time, dropping into the office whenever a significant sim-run or other important event was scheduled - once or twice a week at most. But things were suddenly different. Life had acquired new zest and nothing could have kept him away from the office just then. Not for any rational, quantifiable reason. Had he bothered to sit back and analyse it, he could almost certainly have worked as effectively and achieved as much from the 'virtual' office at home as he could from the physical one across town, and saved the transit time to boot... but that would have meant missing out on so much. 'Job satisfaction,' Malcolm would have called it. All Philip knew was that he wanted to hang on to the previous day's buzz for as long as possible, and that could only be done if he were at the heart of things, able to feed from and also contribute to the collective energy and vibe rather than merely sip from its edges.
Besides, there were other reasons for going in. The latest variant of bastardised Syntheaven should be ready for testing later that day, and they had high hopes of this one. Then, too, there was a call he needed to make, one which would look far better coming from the office - presentation might not be everything, but it counted, and he wanted to avoid any suggestion that this was a casual or social call.
"Philip, good to see you."
"Hello, Geoffrey, thank you for sparing the time to talk to me."
Geoffrey Hamilton was more than a decade older than Philip, though you would never have known it to look at him. He possessed the sort of youthful vigour, not to mention the permanent yet subtle tan, which seemed reserved for politicians and other public performers. Philip had yet to catch him with a single strand of his sandy brown hair out of place, no matter what the hour. As reigning global president and a member of the wider star-spanning government, he was also nominally the single most powerful person on Homeworld, commercial interests aside.
"Not at all; always available for you, Philip."
Total bollocks and they both knew it. Though, as one of the man's principal supporters and head of Kaufman Industries, Philip knew he was pretty hard to ignore.
"How secure is this signal?" he asked.
The president smiled. "As secure as anything can be, or so my people assure me."
Philip had known as much but was keen to impress upon Hamilton a sense of gravitas. "Good. I'm going to send you through some images, with your permission." Or without it, for that matter.
"Go ahead. Care to tell me what I'll be looking at?"
"Sure. The Noise Within. We've discovered her identity," Philip said casually, as the familiar image materialised in the air before Hamilton.
"You have? About time someone made some progress on that front, but I wasn't expecting it to be you..."
The president's voice trailed off as the image began to rotate and shed attachments, in a repeat of the previous day's performance.
"What you're looking at is The Sun Seeker," Philip explained as soon as the display reached its conclusion, and before Hamilton could admit his ignorance by asking.
For a moment the older man looked blank, but then realisation seemed to dawn. He stared again at the image, then at Philip and back. "The Sun Seeker? That old wartime experiment? You mean this Noise Within business is all your friggin' fault?"
"Hardly," Philip assured him, prepared for such a reaction. "I wasn't even alive at the time and all Kaufman Industries were doing was carrying out a government commission, so if anything it's your friggin' fault, or rather your predecessors'." He knew the man well enough to talk to him like that, and had no qualms about doing so. He had always half-suspected that Hamilton appreciated such straight talking - something he was unlikely to hear from those around him, most of whose jobs depended on the president's goodwill.
Hamilton waved a dismissive hand. "We can apportion blame later. I'm more concerned with the here and now. Don't think I'm not grateful for your information, it's all very interesting, but how exactly is this going to help us stop the wretched thing?"
"Well, I could harp on about knowing your enemy being the first step to understanding him, and understanding him being the first step to defeating him..."
"But you're not going to."
"No. Because, you see, there's more..."
Philip sent across the second parcel of images. The stripped-down ship was replaced by a three-dimensional map showing a section of space. Within that map, shaded elliptical areas appeared, depicted in pale blue.
"These are the areas of space in which The Sun Seeker's test flights took place." Four red dots followed, each pulsing so the eye couldn't miss them. "These are the locations of the four attacks to date which have been credited to The Noise Within."
The four red dots all sat squarely within a blue-shaded section.
The president nodded. "So she's sticking to the areas she knows." He looked up towards Philip suddenly, accusingly. "How come no one else has spotted this before?"
"Because nobody else was looking. Why would you, unless you'd already made the connection with The Sun Seeker? But now that you do know, this should make the job of anticipating where she's going to strike next a hell of a lot easier."
The president stroked his chin before nodding again, very deliberately.
"There's something else."
"Not a 'but', I hope."
"No." Philip laughed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Actually, it's a bit of good news for a change. Give me a month and I'll be able to deliver you a system which can take on The Noise Within at her own game."
The president's stare gained new intensity. "You're that close?"
"We are," Philip assured him, crossing metaphorical fingers.
The president absorbed that for a second. "You'll need ships."
"Already in production."
"Good... good. So, jus
t to make sure we're both completely clear about this. You're assuring me that a month from now Kaufman Industries can deliver to the ULAW government battle-ready units capable of stopping The Noise Within."
Philip had to be careful not to get carried away here and promise the impossible. He chose his words with great deliberation. "I'm telling you that a month from now I expect to deliver you a squadron of at least a dozen ships and pilots which will be able to face up to The Noise Within and will stand every chance of beating her. They won't be battle-hardened, won't be experienced beyond simulator level, but they will be ready."
The president held his gaze. "Good enough. If you need anything to make this happen, anything at all, just ask. This gets top priority."
Yes. Philip kept the elation from his face and voice as he said, "Thank you, Geoffrey."
"No, thank you, Philip. I owe you one; we all do."
"Any time, Geoffrey, any time."
Philip let out a long sigh after the call had ended. He'd just secured his team near limitless federal resources to supplement the not-inconsiderable ones Kaufman Industries already had at their disposal. In exchange, he had also given the project something it had never had before: a deadline, committing them to a schedule that was by no means certain. Yes, they were close, but after all these years, a month? But he had sensed Geoffrey would not have responded to anything longer.
Susan Tan was going to kill him.
Yet he saw this as a positive step. There was nothing like a deadline to focus the mind, to spur them on for that last big push, which was precisely how he intended to pitch this to Susan and the team.
She was still going to kill him.
Philip chose to delay contacting the media to tell them about the Sun Seeker / Noise Within link for another couple of hours. That would give Hamilton time to set wheels in motion and to prepare for the media onslaught that was about to come. He'd then make sure that the man knew the reason for the delay. It never hurt to have a president in your debt.
"Doctor Kaufman?"
Late afternoon and he was on his way home. At the sound of his name Philip glanced back over his shoulder, to see something which made the decision to come into the office seem worthwhile all by itself.
She was a vision of porcelain perfection; her pale skin managing to radiate vitality rather than anything wan or sickly, with a suggestion of icy strength underlying it, while the lustrous night-black hair, though worn comparatively short, was meticulously coiffured into full-bodied waves with two elegantly crafted strands curling in to kiss her high-boned cheeks. Yet by far the most striking features were her eyes, which were large and of a brown so dark that they seemed to mirror her hair. Onyx orbs set against virgin snow, they lent her gaze a directness guaranteed to skewer any man's heart.
Philip knew without doubt that here before him stood the most beautiful woman in this or any other world.
"Julia Cirese, Universal News." She held out her ID but he barely glanced at it, unwilling to tear his gaze away from that face.
"Sorry to pounce on you like this." If only, he fleetingly thought. Her voice matched her appearance: strong but with a musicality and a surprisingly high pitch that hinted of the girl she must have been not so very long ago. "But I've been trying to reach you for weeks. Your staff do a great job of protecting you."
He recovered enough equilibrium to smile and say, "It's always a relief to know that, Ms Cirese; after all, that's what I pay them for. But you've got my attention now." And how!
"I'm glad to hear that; and it's Julia, please." The smile she returned was dazzling. "I won't keep you long; I just wanted to schedule an interview with you, assuming you're willing. I'm doing a series on the most significant entrepreneurs of our time, and you're top of my list."
An interview? He hated interviews and usually left such things to Phil. Yet he said without hesitation, "Of course. Send the questions through to my secretary and I'll..."
The way she screwed up her face and dropped her gaze for a second showed exactly what she thought of that idea. "Sorry, it wasn't a pre-recorded answer session I was after. I know it's old fashioned of me, but I really do prefer the spontaneity of conducting my interviews face to face. That way I can get a better feel of who you are and can bring so much more texture and presence to the report. Of course, I can forward the main thrust of the questions in advance so you can prepare and you'll have power of veto on the piece before it goes out, but I was hoping to sit down and do this somewhere with just you, me and a mini-cam."
All of which suited him down to the ground, but why stop there? "That could prove to be a little tricky," he said with what he hoped was a suitable level of regret. "I'm well and truly snowed-under at present. Unless, perhaps," he added, as if it were sudden inspiration, "we could find some time outside of working hours...?" Did this come across as transparently as it felt?
"That sounds good to me."
If so, she clearly didn't mind. He took a deep breath and went for broke. "Perhaps over dinner?" He knew exactly where, as well: Piérre's - an intimate table in one of the bay windows overlooking the harbour; exquisite food complimented by an equally impressive wine, which he would carefully select from their famous list....
"That would be lovely, so long as you don't mind a fly cam hovering over the table throughout."
An intrusion like that might well be enough to get even him ejected from Piérre's, or any of the exclusive restaurants he preferred to frequent. "Ah yes..." Could he invite her to his place for dinner instead? No, not impressive enough and too much hassle. "Perhaps not, then. How about if we have dinner first and then do the interview afterwards?"
"Even better; when did you have in mind?"
He resisted the temptation to say 'how about right now?'
"I should mention that I'm due off-world on an assignment in a few days," she said into the silence of his pause. "We could always do this after I get back, if you'd prefer."
Off-world? That could take weeks. He had to see her before then. "Right... well, we might as well get it out the way sooner rather than later. Are you free tomorrow evening?"
"I am now. Do you want to wricme?"
Philip was caught off guard by this vaguely recognised expression, a reaction which made him feel suddenly old and out of touch as its meaning belatedly dawned. "Sure," he said, hoping she hadn't noticed his hesitation but certain that she had.
He touched the side of his wrist information centre or wric - the 'personalised companion no civilised man or woman can do without' or so the advertisers insisted. Programmed to respond to him alone, the screen pulsed once with luminous green light behind the digital time display, to show that it recognised his touch and was receptive.
"Actually, it's probably easier if I wricu..."
"All right, mine's receptive."
She touched her wric, which squirted her ID across to Philip's. The screen on his pulsed once, indicating it had just logged a new 'friend', which meant it would now accept messages from Julia. He activated his own ID, repeating the process but in reverse.
She touched her unit again and the face of Philip's wric pulsed a second time, to confirm that it had received a fresh parcel of information; doubtless Julia's standard contact package, which could include all manner of things, usually a brief bio, selected photo images, plus details of food preferences, musical taste, hobbies, preferred drinks etc., maybe even her favourite colour - all the information which most people would have no interest in until they got to know you better, if then, but which the manufacturers reckoned should be available in any case. Except that in this instance, Philip might just take the trouble to look; even at her favourite colour.
A small green envelope would now reside in the top left corner of the wric face until he opened the message. The wrics were independent units, isolated from other systems and loaded with security safeguards so that all information received could be vetted and 'cleaned' before being downloaded elsewhere. Now that they were established 'friends', h
e could reach her at the touch of a button or a word to his partial.
"See you tomorrow, and thanks." She gifted him another dazzling smile and then turned to leave.
He hadn't noticed her figure until she walked away, too captivated by that face, that smile, but now wondered how he could possibly have failed to do so. In theory, even the office's car park was a secure area, but Julia Cirese struck him as a very determined lady. Watching her now, it didn't surprise him in the least that she had managed to get in here. In fact, Philip suspected that she could gain access to just about anywhere she wanted.
Philip continued to his car - a black coffee bean of a vehicle, shining like some newly minted medal. At his approach, a seam appeared in the car's side, a split which gradually widened to become a door, the surface to either side seeming to ripple as the opening appeared. Philip sat into the car and the door immediately sealed itself.
"Good afternoon, Doctor Kaufman. Destination?"
"Home."
The two-seater car began to move as soon as he was comfortable. The pod-like vehicle provided perfect visibility on all sides, even though the exterior appeared to be a uniform glossy black. Philip could have had the view opaqued, but he preferred to watch the city slip past around him, particularly when the alternative was to be cocooned within a private cell, oblivious to the world outside.
"Music, sir?"
He thought for a second; "Tydell's Solar Flare." Raucous in parts, but it began soothingly enough with some wonderful moments, and he would be home before the louder sections arrived.