by Gary Gibson
Chloe looked pale and dazed. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid,’ she said, staring at the words. ‘If I’d just read that damn diary, I could have figured all of this out by now.’
‘There’s no point beating yourself up,’ said Rozalia. ‘You’d have got round to it eventually.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Listen to this.’ I began to read from some of the rest of the pages.
If you’re reading this, it began, it means something’s happened to me.
You know there’ve been a lot of problems recently, what with Mort Bramnik and some other people nearly getting themselves killed when a mission went wrong. Just after that Bramnik himself came to me in confidence and asked if I’d take a look into all these incidents that have been piling up.
‘Why me?’ I asked him, and he said it was because he trusted me the most out of all the Pathfinders.
I’ll admit I was wary, particularly when he said he wanted to do it in strict secrecy. He was sure, he said, that what happened to him out on that alternate we had visited was no accident.
I looked up at Rozalia. ‘You told me how the other Jerry got killed,’ I said. ‘But exactly what happened on the expedition Bramnik was part of?’
She shuddered. ‘To be honest, I’ve tried quite hard to forget it.’
‘It was that bad?’
‘They were hunted,’ said Chloe, ‘by werewolves.’
Rozalia twisted around to look at her. ‘Do not,’ she said, ‘use that word.’
‘Well, I saw the drone footage from that mission,’ said Chloe, ‘and that’s what they looked like to me.’
‘So what were they, then?’ I asked Rozalia.
‘Lab-bred mutants that bust out of some military lab,’ Rozalia explained. ‘Isn’t that always the way? We called them Howlers. Imagine something the size of a bear, but ten times as smart, and fast as all hell. I once saw one rip open an abandoned truck like it was made of confetti.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘The humans on their alternate were mostly wiped out after a nuclear war. There were survivors, but after the Howlers broke out of whatever lab they were invented in, they bred fast and got busy hunting the survivors down to the very last person alive.’
‘Nice,’ I said. ‘But why did Bramnik decide to visit somewhere with so much potential for danger?’
‘I spent a lot of time studying the Howlers,’ said Rozalia. ‘They hunt by night and hole up during the day. As long as we were out of there by dark, we should have been fine. That time, however, things were different, and I could never figure out why.’
Doesn’t that sound familiar, I thought, thinking of the bee-brains. ‘So the expedition was attacked by Howlers?’
She nodded. ‘We made a run for a building we’d already scouted out that had previously been fortified, presumably by someone making their last stand against the things. We were shooting the creatures down the whole way. That’s what I remember: Casey, with his shotgun, taking them down calm as anything, one after the other, as they came running towards us.’ She wrapped her arms around her shoulders as if suddenly cold. ‘But we had to get back through the transfer stage before dusk, or none of us would ever have made it out. Casey managed to trap the Howlers in a basement for long enough to give the rest of us a chance to make a dash for a ’copter waiting to lift us back to the staging area. I really hate to say it, but if it wasn’t for Casey . . .’
I looked down at the pages spread out on the oilskin. ‘It sounds like a standard screw-up, from the description at least.’
‘There was an investigation,’ said Chloe drily. ‘There’s always an investigation.’
‘And?’
She gave me a thumbs-down gesture. ‘And zilch. They just blamed us for not doing a good enough job of keeping Bramnik and his guests safe. Which is bullshit, based on what I heard from Rozalia and the others.’
Chloe nodded at the papers in my lap. ‘What else does it say?’
I picked up the next page. ‘Says here he – I mean, the other Jerry – had a hard time talking to anyone about any of the incidents or asking any kind of questions without giving the game away. Instead he tried to learn how some of the equipment worked by talking to members of the Authority’s technical and civilian staff. That way, maybe he could figure out just what it was that kept going wrong.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Rozalia. ‘Once you get some of those technical guys talking, you can’t shut them up. Getting them to not talk would be harder.’
I looked at her. ‘I thought there were rules about none of them communicating with us?’
‘Sure,’ Rozalia agreed. ‘If it’s something important, like where they’re all from, or anything like that. But how a field radio works or how you repair a drone isn’t nearly so much of a problem.’
‘Listen to this,’ I said, and read aloud:
There was just too much going wrong, said Bramnik, for it not to be some kind of sabotage. But then, who could be responsible?
It seemed to him that the only way that any such sabotage could be carried out was by someone with unrestricted access to a transfer stage; someone able to come and go across the multiverse any time they pleased. But according to Bramnik, none of the Authority’s civilian staff was allowed near a stage unless they were going somewhere. And all the rig technicians are strictly vetted by Major Howes, who, as you know, recently took charge of the military detachment at the compound.
Bramnik went on to tell me that, apart from himself, the rig technicians and a very few other high-ranking individuals, the transfer coordinates for the various alternates are kept a closely guarded secret. Despite this, he wanted somebody he trusted to take a look around the Howler alternate and see if there was any evidence that would contradict the official investigation. And he knew I had prior experience on that alternate; I’d helped Rozalia and Winifred collect their data on the Howlers, after all.
So by prior arrangement I sneaked out late one night while you were still asleep and found Bramnik waiting for me at the main transfer stage. Nobody else was around; just me and him. Bramnik himself worked the control rig and sent me over. I was to return at a prearranged time when he would, again, be the only one around.
I’ll cut a long story short, Chloe. While I was over on that alternate, I found hard evidence that someone had set a trap for Bramnik and the rest of our party. Someone had programmed a couple of the robots to gather up brushwood and anything else that might burn and dumped it in the mouth of a nearby Howler den, before setting it on fire and smoking them out in the middle of the day. I found one of the robots stuck in a ditch where it had fallen, and raided its memory for the evidence.
Bramnik was particular that I should retrieve anything I could from the site of the evacuation, and that made me wonder if he’d lost something valuable. But by the time I had a look around, the whole place had been swept clean – as if someone had beaten me there.
When I got back to the island and told him what I’d found, Bramnik turned kind of grey, as if he’d aged a couple of decades there and then. He told me he’d be in touch soon; he was going to have to go back to his home alternate for a couple of weeks, and in the meantime I should try and find out anything else I could.
Here’s something I learned during that last conversation with Bramnik: he believes the Patriots really are trying to take over operations on Easter Island. That’s the main reason he keeps getting called away as much as he does – he’s in deep shit on whatever alternate they all come from. He explained that he’s under investigation himself back there – for what, he didn’t specify – and Agent Greenbrooke himself is involved in that investigation in some senior capacity.
After I got home, I spent a couple of days thinking about what I had learned. Who knew as much about the Howlers, for instance, as me or Rozalia or Winifred, both of whom I trusted implicitly? Who had the field experience on that alternate, that they would know just how those animals might react were you to smoke them out in the m
iddle of the day?
That’s when I decided to start keeping an eye on Casey.
I looked up at the other two. Rozalia had her hand to her mouth.
‘Don’t stop now, for pity’s sake,’ she said.
I cleared my throat and kept going.
I realized that Casey had a habit of being around whenever things went wrong. During the last few weeks I made sure to keep close tabs on him, even volunteering for the same missions. As closely as I watched him, I saw and heard nothing to raise my suspicions and started to think I was chasing down the wrong alley.
Then, one day, while I was back on the island and walking across town from Nadia and Rozalia’s place, I saw Wallace and Casey heading off for one of those fishing trips they always seem to be taking together up along the coast. I was feeling frustrated and concerned by the fact that Bramnik still had not yet returned, and I found myself following them from a distance. They were making their way on foot out past the suburbs, carrying rods and fishing tackle and the whole damn works. It was getting dark, so I knew I’d be able to keep a reasonable distance without too much risk of them figuring out they were being followed.
They were making their way towards a wharf on the east coast, just north of the base compound, when they suddenly came to a stop, looking around like they wanted to make certain nobody was watching them. I made sure to hide somewhere I could still keep an eye on them, and I saw them stow every last bit of their fishing gear in a rowing boat moored at the wharf before doubling back into town. I followed them the whole way back and saw them slip inside one of the abandoned houses.
‘Does he say which one?’ Rozalia asked me. I lifted the page up and showed her a small map that my predecessor had drawn in one corner of the page before continuing my narration.
I got close enough that I could hear the pair of them talking and moving around inside. At one point I heard a window rattle. I tried to take a peek inside, but it looked as if Wallace had covered all the windows up with the same black card that he puts on his own windows. I stayed hidden there around the back of the house until close to dawn, until Wallace finally emerged – but there was no sign of Casey.
As soon as Wallace was out of sight I made my way inside the house. I didn’t feel worried about running into Casey because by now I had a pretty good idea what I was going to find. And there it was, down in the basement: a set of field-pillars – in other words, a portable transfer stage.
EIGHTEEN
‘Well, shit,’ said Rozalia, clearly stunned. ‘Didn’t see that one coming.’
I looked between the two of them. ‘Why? Is it that hard to get hold of a portable stage?’
Rozalia let out a stifled laugh. ‘Hell, yes. You can’t just walk in and grab a bunch of field-pillars and something to run them with. All the equipment’s kept under lock and key, and guarded to boot.’
‘I want to hear the rest of what he wrote,’ said Chloe. She looked scared and lost in a way that made me want to wrap her up in my arms. I took a swallow of my coffee, which had turned lukewarm, before continuing:
The whole time I was thinking, Who had the power or the resources to give Casey and Wallace a private transfer stage? It had to be someone from inside the Authority itself, and whoever they were, they’d done it without Bramnik’s knowledge or consent.
By now I felt little doubt that the two men would prove to be involved somehow with what had happened in the Howler alternate. With their own transfer stage to take them there any time they wanted, they’d have had numerous opportunities to interfere with on-site equipment in between the scheduled trips.
Well, I was damned if I was going to sit on all this until Bramnik finally decided to get the hell back to the island. I decided to confront one or both of them – and since Casey wasn’t anywhere around, that meant it had to be Wallace.
I didn’t wait a moment longer. I headed straight round to Wallace’s and hammered on his door until he let me in. From the smell of his breath he’d started drinking from the moment he got in the door. When he saw the look on my face I think he guessed why I was there; he tried to slam the door shut, but I forced my way in and threw him into a chair before demanding he give me the answers I wanted.
I thought I’d have a hard time getting him to talk, but once I told him what I knew already, he just caved there and then and told me everything. It was like pulling the plug out of a dam; I couldn’t have stopped him talking if I’d tried.
Do you remember Wallace was ‘interrogated’ by the Patriots a while back for thieving alternate technology? That’s when his drinking got serious. I guess it’s no surprise that he’d been harbouring a great deal of resentment over that whole episode.
That, he explained, was when he decided to get even.
Now, Wallace is a smart guy. There’s no doubt about that. He’s hellishly good with computers, and a lot of the time he winds up getting put in charge of mission logistics and other stuff like programming our reconnaissance drones. Because of that, he explained, the Authority frequently gave him access to otherwise restricted computers inside the base compound. By then he had already figured out that some parts of their computer network were heavily encrypted. To a guy like Wallace, that’s a challenge, not a barrier.
He eventually worked out that to get inside those restricted sectors, he’d need access to a special kind of alphanumeric key. One time when he was up at the base, he learned by accident that this key got changed once every week. Wallace knew that, if he could get hold of an up-to-date key, maybe he’d be able to find something among all those restricted files that he could use to hurt the Patriots, and Greenbrooke in particular.
He bided his time and took care to cover his tracks when he explored the unsecured parts of the network. He came across a text file somebody had left in the wrong place that proved to be a set of security guidelines. From this he learned that every six months a new set of keys was generated in advance, printed up into three separate physical documents and distributed to three high-ranking members of the Authority’s staff; one went to Mort Bramnik, one to Major Howes and the last to the Patriots – meaning, in this case, Agent Greenbrooke.
The guidelines further stated that these three printed documents also contained the complete set of transfer coordinates known to the Authority. Naturally, Wallace assumed that this included the coordinates for those alternates we can all expect to one day retire to if we choose. The guidelines went on to say that Bramnik kept his copy of the document on him at all times, in a locked briefcase, carried either by himself or his deputy assistant Kip Mayer.
Once Wallace got this far, he knew that, without access to the various codes and keys contained in those printouts, he couldn’t get hold of the kind of information he was hoping to find. It niggled and worried at him for weeks afterwards, until eventually he wound up blabbing his frustration to Casey while they were fishing and drinking down by the harbour.
This was when Wallace learned that Casey had a secret of his own. He was covertly working for the Patriots, just like I’m now secretly working for Mort Bramnik.
Casey explained that just a few months before, Greenbrooke had approached him about carrying out some kind of work for the Patriots. Greenbrooke tried to get Casey on side by saying how much Casey’s outlook and philosophy reflected his own. You know how Casey’s a big fan of Ayn Rand? Well, Greenbrooke apparently presented Casey with – get this – a signed copy of Atlas Shrugged, from the Authority’s own alternate. In return for working clandestinely for the Patriots, Greenbrooke told Casey, he would be handsomely rewarded. Not only with early retirement to the alternate of his choosing, but also with enough material wealth sourced from other extinct alternates to set him up for life, wherever he wound up.
Casey bit. The nature of all this clandestine activity? Nothing less than sabotage. Greenbrooke explained he wanted to hurt both Bramnik and his civilian administration, which Casey himself, after all, had never been afraid to criticize at length. If enough things went wrong, Gr
eenbrooke suggested, the Patriots would be able to make a case for taking over operations on the island. In order for Casey to carry out his work, they would provide him with a portable transfer stage that he could use to make his own trips – but with a limited set of coordinates.
In one respect, I think Greenbrooke judged Casey correctly; they shared the same love for tradition, for the military, for rugged individualism.
But in other respects, Greenbrooke got Casey all wrong. Greenbrooke forgot that a man like Casey never likes having to kowtow to anyone else, whatever their similarities otherwise. More than that, Wallace explained to me, Casey smelled a rat. He figured that, instead of letting him retire, Greenbrooke was more likely to order his men to put a bullet in the back of Casey’s head and dump his body in the sea. That’s what Casey would have done had the roles been reversed.
Your next question might be, Why did Casey tell all of this to Wallace?
After Wallace told him everything he knew about the security keys and the transfer coordinates, Casey had a brainwave. He knew that a mission was coming up in which Mort Bramnik, along with other high-ranking types visiting from the Authority, were due to get a tour of the island and of a recently opened alternate. And since Bramnik carried a copy of this high-security document everywhere with him, maybe there could be an opportunity to steal it – at this point, Bramnik just wasn’t around that much, having to deal with politics ‘back home’. Then, with the private transfer stage provided by Greenbrooke, Casey and Wallace would be able to make their own escape without waiting for the Authority’s permission. They even talked about sharing that information with the rest of us, in case we also felt like lighting out.
So Casey and Wallace started planning a supreme act of sabotage – one that had nothing to do with Greenbrooke’s plans for taking over the Pathfinder project. Their plan was to disrupt the mission enough that Bramnik, along with everyone else, would be forced to evacuate back to the island at short notice. Somewhere in the chaos, Casey would try and find an opportunity to separate Bramnik from his briefcase.