The Remnant Vault (Tombs Rising Book 2)
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Connect
Dedication
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Friday, 24 May 2115
7:10 AM
9:25 AM
9:30 AM
9:55 AM
10:00 AM
2:52 PM
8:21 PM
9:01 PM
9:48 PM
Saturday, 25 May 2115
6:04 AM
9:01 AM
11:19 AM
12:22 PM
10:04 PM
Sunday, 26 May 2115
8:00 AM
11:24 AM
12:55 PM
1:50 PM
2:30 PM
3:12 PM
Monday, 27 May 2115
9:10 AM
9:20 AM
9:46 AM
10:01 AM
10:02 AM
10:04 AM
11:09 AM
12:10 PM
12:20 PM
12:40 PM
Tuesday, 28 May 2115
8:40 AM
Yesterday, Monday, 27 May 2115
1:10 PM
What happens next?
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Acknowledgements
The Remnant Vault
Robert Scott-Norton
The Remnant Vault
Copyright © 2016 Robert Scott-Norton
ebook Edition, Licence Notes
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Friday, 24 May 2115
7:10 AM
The dream had come to her again last night, and Moira was rattled. Seeing the tree in her dream was like looking at the chasm opening beneath her feet. This experience wasn’t unique: telepaths across the country were reporting similar things on the dark web. But, last night’s dream had been the most vivid one yet. Moira had given up trying to get back to sleep and spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the midnight rain as it splashed on the windows. Sadie was the deepest sleeper Moria had ever known and hadn’t stirred all night.
Forgetting her bag halfway to the bus stop and going back for it had made her miss the early bus, and she had to settle for arriving at her desk ten minutes after seven o’clock. Knowing that she had little chance of catching up on her admin put her into a foul temper, so when Chloe stuck her head in her office and offered her a drink, she all but snapped her head off.
It was fortunate that DI Burnfield was out of town at a district level meeting and hadn’t seen her late arrival. As the man in charge of this district’s Telepath Crime Unit, she depended on him for good reviews. If she failed to get them, she’d likely find herself back in the class two pool at OsMiTech waiting for an assignment. Being in the pool meant a severe cut in earnings and she couldn’t afford to have another short month.
Chloe stood in the doorway. “Got a minute?” Her arms crossed.
“Sorry I snapped at you earlier,” Moira said.
“It’s not that.”
“What’s up?” Moira tried a smile, but let it drop when Chloe’s expression remained nonplussed.
Chloe stepped into the office and stood on the other side of her desk. Moira had a sinking feeling she’d forgotten something and sensed the irritation in the woman’s mind. Chloe’s eyes narrowed. Moira eased up on the surface scan. It wasn’t likely that Chloe would have noticed and she wouldn’t be expecting Moira to so flagrantly break the Code. One of the nice perks of working for the police; people expected you to play by the rules.
“I can’t find your report on the Myers’ case in my stack. Have you filed it in the right section?”
“I think so.” Moira swiped through her screen, pretending to look busy. “Hmm, I can’t see it right now. I’ll keep looking and shout you when I’ve got it.”
“It’s OK, I’ll wait. It’s important.”
Wonderful.
Moira hadn’t filed the report. She hadn’t even started writing it yet. Hurrying for the early bus was supposed to have been worth it by getting into the office early to give her a chance to catch up on exactly this kind of thing. The Myers’ report had been due two days ago and Moira was a little surprised that it had taken Chloe this long to come down on her about it.
“Is there a problem, Moira?”
More tapping. More swiping. Eventually, Moira looked up from her screen and smiled at her superior. “I’m not sure what’s happened. It’s not here.”
“Right.”
“Right?”
Chloe looked out of the window before flicking her gaze back at the telepath. “Have you actually written the report yet?”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
A pause. Almost imperceptible, but there all the same. Moira narrowed her eyes and leaned forward on her desk.
Chloe’s smile was razor sharp. “I know you’ve been busy. Is there anything I can do to help?” She didn’t sound like she wanted to help.
“I’m telling you, I’ve written it. I don’t understand why it’s not there. I’ll take another look later, maybe—”
Chloe raised her hand. “I’m sorry, for whatever’s going on in your life, but you’ve got to learn to leave that behind at the door.”
Moira forced another smile. “There’s nothing going on.”
“Your mum’s not well. I know. I’m sorry. It’s shitty.”
Moira looked to the side, her face turning red. It would be so easy to shut her up for good. Fingers balled up in her hands, she returned to the source of her antagonism. “My family is none of your business. I’m sorry that you’ve lost the report and I’ll make sure to send you another copy just as soon as I’ve finished writing up the notes on the other five cases that were dropped in my queue yesterday.” Moira stared into the eyes of her superior and willed her to fight back. She would make her regret it.
Chloe shook her head and backed out of the room, this time a wry smile on her face. Moira stood and closed the door to her office before leaning back against it and closing her eyes.
Bloody hell, why couldn’t the woman just give her a break?
A few minutes later, once she trusted herself not to scream into her empty office, she sat back down at her desk and looked at the case reports she had open on her screen. She’d lied to Chloe about the number of cases in her queue: there were only two active cases that demanded her input that morning. As the department’s only assigned telepath she had a lot of involvement in the investigations Burnfield was running. Just this last week, they’d pulled in two rogues runnin
g extortion rackets across three districts.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. The pressure that had been building up in her sinuses had gotten worse and she reminded herself to run down to the chemists later.
Her HALO buzzed. She glanced at the ring’s display. It was her neighbour, Stuart.
“It’s barking again,” he said with undisguised annoyance. “I’ve warned you about that dog.”
“She’s lonely. I’m sorry.”
“Are you going to be out all day? I’m not prepared to put up with its yapping anymore.”
“I can’t come home until the end of my shift.”
“And that girlfriend of yours…”
Moira sighed. “She’s out.”
“I gathered.”
“Look, I’ll try to get my mum to pop over and let her out—oh, sorry, got to go. The detective is after me.”
Talk of the ‘detective’ was usually enough to hurry to the end of unpleasant conversations, and it did the trick again. She ended the call and looked at the photo of Mum on the desk. She’d lied about getting Mum to come over and check on Florrie. Since the fall, Mum had been in a lot of pain and hated leaving the house. With Dad gone, that only left Moira to look after her, and the rising cost of hospital bills and doctor’s visits were taking a heavy toll on her savings. Being an only child with a dependent parent totally sucked. At least, she’d convinced Sadie to search for something that paid better.
For the next hour, she avoided Chloe and focused on getting the report she needed ready. Chloe would know as soon as she received it that it had only just been written, so she’d have to concoct another lie about rewriting it from scratch. Since the data intrusion two months ago, they were more likely to believe that kind of story anyway.
Shit, was that the time?
She had to get to Mum’s flat to take her for her doctor’s appointment. She’d planned to ask Chloe or Burnfield for the time off she needed, but they’d make her take it as unpaid. Instead, she changed her status on the internal network to indicate she’d gone on a research trip to OsMiTech headquarters. That would give her a couple of hours. A no-show at the doctor’s and she’d be hit for a cancellation fee almost as high as the actual consultation fee. Quickly, she finished typing a sentence into Chloe’s report and submitted it to the server. Then, grabbing her coat and slipping her arms into it, she picked up her bag and hung it from her shoulder.
Chloe was in her office, in deep conversation with someone on her HALO. Phil and Steve were fiddling with the controls on the simulacrum engine. Moira headed for the exit, hoping no one would notice her leaving.
Outside, it was a warm dry afternoon, still bright, and the sun kissed her face and melted away those moments of tiredness and frustration that had been building all day. None of this really mattered. She enjoyed her job. She loved Sadie, despite seeming incapable of holding down a long-term job, and Mum was still alive and waiting to see her. Her feet almost danced along the pavement.
She checked her HALO. Damn, she would miss this bus as well—but no, there it was, waiting at the stop at the end of the road. A gleaming silver metal block of foul-smelling public transportation that would take her away from the city centre. She ran, ignoring the adverts shouting her name through her HALO demanding her attention.
“Moira Bailey, get the woman of your dreams. Try Unstoppable today.”
“Stop for a StarSubs Coffee, Moira. Take that break you deserve with—”
The heels of her sensible shoes still managed to send jolts of discomfort up the back of her legs and into her back. Before she’d run the first one hundred metres, she was already out of breath. Owning a dog hadn’t yet made her any fitter.
As she half ran, half stumbled up the street, drones circled past, taking pictures of the pedestrians. No one batted an eyelid at these incessant intruders of privacy but she couldn’t fail to notice strangers’ eyes checking out her class tattoo on her forehead.
I’m not the enemy.
The street was busy with morning commuters and she kept bumping into strangers as she hurried. She stumbled and reached out to prevent a fall. Her hand caught the coat of an Indian lady whose face seemed incapable of smiling.
“Sorry,” Moira murmured and let go, wanting to shout out at the bus to wait for her.
The bus wasn’t going to stop. It just wouldn’t. Blood pumped through her temples. It felt like someone was squeezing against her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
People were giving her strange looks. She stopped abruptly, giving up on the bus. It would leave without her, Mum would miss the appointment and she’d be out of pocket again.
A pain sparked across her forehead, stabbing behind the eyes. She moaned. Her bag fell from her shoulder as she pressed her palms against her eyes, squeezing the tension away. No one stopped to check if she was all right. Just one more nutter prowling the streets.
When she moved her hands, the Indian woman was close to her, and without speaking, she bent to retrieve Moria’s bag.
“Thanks,” Moria said, hoisting the bag back onto her shoulder, the anger subsiding as she stared at the woman’s familiar features.
“We’ve never met,” the woman spoke in a faint Liverpool accent, answering a question Moira never voiced.
“Who are you?”
The woman’s thin lips barely curled at the edges, perhaps they couldn’t form a smile at all. A black bindi sat perfectly between eyes that drew Moira in with the deepest brown she’d ever seen. “It’s disgusting that it won’t wait for you.”
The bus pulled away from the kerb and headed their way. Moira saw the driver smile victoriously.
What an absolute bastard. Who the hell does he think he is?
“Your mother won’t be happy if you miss that appointment.”
“I’m not going to miss it,” Moria murmured, her mind suddenly clear. “It’s not too late to catch it.”
Moira didn’t even wave her hand to stop the bus as it bumped along the uneven road towards her. She knew the driver wouldn’t stop just because she’d hailed him. More than his job’s worth.
But, she would make him stop.
Moira thanked the beautiful woman who’d picked up her bag and patted her on the arm. Then without a backwards glance, Moira stepped in front of the moving bus and faced it square on.
This will make him stop.
9:25 AM
The lingering taste in the back of Jack Winston’s throat made him want to gag. He opened one bleary eye and stared across to the bedside table where he could barely discern the bottle of cheap wine he’d finished last night. Nasty stuff. Too nasty to be wasting his money on.
Rolling over, he scratched his chest and then worked at the spot developing under his chin.
Thump, thump, thump.
The bedroom wall shook with the vibrations from the music next door. The picture hanging on the wall rattled in its frame as the music pumped. Third day in a row. Stupid bastard next door. His chest tightened and Jack flung off the bedspread and sat on the edge of his bed, naked save for his boxer shorts, and glared at the vibrating picture.
Goddammit.
He crossed the room in three strides and thumped his fist against the wall. The picture rocked on its hook, but the beats continued. Jack stood and felt his head pound to the rhythm. No more. Enough was enough.
Clothes lay strewn on the chair by the window and he grabbed a t-shirt and jeans and pulled them on. Then, without further deliberation, Jack hurried down the stairs, opened the front door, and took a moment just breathing in the fresh air. He should let it go, step back inside and make breakfast. His stomach needed something inside to counter the effects of last night. Jesus, what in the hell had he been thinking to start on the wine? He’d sworn off any alcohol since he’d been with Keeley. She’d hated the person he’d become whilst under the influence and he’d respected that. But, something had set him off last night—if only he could remember what.
The music stop
ped. Jack exhaled and took a step back into his property, but as he did, a new track came on and sent shock waves along the hall.
Jack flung aside the front door and leapt over the partition fence between his and the neighbour’s property. He banged on his neighbour’s door with his fist.
“Jimmy! Turn it down!”
Nearly a minute passed. Jack stepped back. He thought of the position of the lock—how strong the timber looked—how much effort it would take to break with a well-placed kick.
Mrs Matthews across the road was looking out of her bedroom window. He shook his head and raised his hand to thump on the wood again.
Jimmy opened the door. A foul odour escaped from the house. There was a blackness behind the narrow gaunt figure of his neighbour. His sunken eyes and thinning grey hair gave him the appearance of the walking dead. The man could only be in his forties but he carried himself like a man far older.
“Jimmy, I already told you about your music,” said Jack, doing his best to keep his voice level. Firm but level.
Jimmy tipped his head to the side. When he lifted his hand and extended his middle finger Jack wasn’t surprised. “Fuck you, teep.”
Jack shouldered into the crackhead, enjoying the moment that his neighbour’s gangly body banged into the door and he slipped and stumbled back inside. Once over the threshold, Jack was assailed by the full stench of this man’s existence. From the back of the hall, he glimpsed a stack of dishes in the kitchen sink. The carpet was threadbare, and the air was funky. Jack caught his breath and at once felt contaminated by this man’s existence. Body odour and sweat and a tang of something being smoked in the house.
All over the wall shared with his own house, Jimmy had gone to town papering the surface with tin foil.
“What the hell?” Jack couldn’t help but stare at the strange sight. The rest of the walls were untouched. Then it came to him. Jimmy made no secret of hating living next door to a telepath. Was this his pathetic attempt to prevent his mind being read?