‘How could you think that of me? What kind of humanitarian would I be if I believed that your life was unimportant?’
‘The type who believes that sometimes it’s necessary to sacrifice a life in order to save many more.’
‘Is that really what you believe?’
She looks down at the floor. I’m not sure if she does believe it or if she’s simply clutching at straws. ‘You chose to work at Greenlees and then return because you believed that your father’s freedom and the injustice towards your mother were worth fighting for. I never told you to go back in. In fact, Hero and I tried to stop you. When it was most dangerous to do so, you chose to fight back. You are not a victim Starla. Not anymore.’
She bites her lower lip and for the first time since in this argument started, I see doubt in her.
‘You can’t believe you had the guts to do it, can you?’ I say standing again then trying to find her eyes. ‘You can’t believe you were that woman, the one who found the courage to re-enter that Draconian institution. But you did, because you’re much stronger than you think you are.’
She lets her arms fall to her sides but continues staring down, mulling over the facts.
‘I’m not expecting gratitude for opening your eyes to the situation.’ I begin softly. ‘Just a little perspective.’
‘Perspective?’ She says, suddenly angry again. ‘You completely changed my life! And now I’m a fugitive! I’m not okay with that Jo! I have no Chip and no identity.’ She says, holding up her palm to show me a small dark mark that looks like a burn. ‘I’m a displaced person. I can never return to England.’
‘So what if you can't?’ I say, in an irritated tone because I’ve tried all other approaches. ‘How can this possibly be worse than the life you had? You were an underachiever; a Manual led warehouse worker, taking care of your sick father and wondering if things were ever going to change. And they never would have if you hadn’t met me.’
‘I do wish I’d never met you.’ She says, glaring at me.
I resist the temptation to bite back, realising that it’s getting us nowhere and that actually, all I want to do is pull her towards me and hold her. ‘Starla. I understand how difficult this is for you...’
‘Do you?’
‘...you were in denial. Eventually you came around but then you were CIA’d and forgot it all and yes, that was my fault. But Hero found you again and now you know everything - including the future for those back home if we don’t find a way to stop what’s happening. You’re a part of this now, whether you like it or not. And being disconnected means that you’re free. You’ve been liberated.’
‘I don’t feel liberated Jo, I feel lost! Lost on a boat in the middle of the ocean!’
‘Ok, so we’re not out of hot water yet. But what would you rather? This, or having lived the rest of your days never knowing what really happened to your mother? This, or never discovering that the government wiped your memories? This, or continuing to believe your father was dead and dating Miles or Giles until he was eventually assigned elsewhere?’
‘I would rather have known from the start what I was getting myself into. She says, through gritted teeth and punishing me with her eyes.
‘Okay, you’re right.’ I say, stepping back and pushing my fingers through my hair. ‘I lied to you and that was wrong. But are you hurting now?’
‘What?’ She replies, with a puzzled expression.
‘Do you actually feel upset or humiliated that I lied to you, or are you just imagining how you must have felt because you read the diary?’
She looks down at her drysuit boots.
‘You were over it Starla. You’d forgiven me. Otherwise you’d have taken my offer of CIA and a year's supply of LIFE for your father. Am I right?’
I watch as she searches for an alternative answer to the one we both know she’s about to give. ‘It’s a bit of both I imagine.’ She admits, with her head still lowered.
‘Well, I’m sorry. And I imagine I was sorry then too.’ Actually I know for a fact that I never apologised. But better late than never. Perhaps I should have offered the apology sooner. But I had to make her see how unreasonable she was being. And she’s not the only one who’s suffered. ‘A country where people are killed when they get too old to take care of themselves, or run out of Points, or are randomly selected for termination - that’s the reality. If only we were imagining it.'
I get a flash in right eye, a message asking if I wish to connect the FUSE system. I tap my fingers to confirm. We’re now out of the UK, another step closer to safety.
'I'm sorry about your friend.’ She says suddenly, hinting at remorse for neglecting the fact that Jessica was a victim.
'I'm sorry you thought you'd lost your father.’ I reply, collecting one of the cups of tea and handing it to her. I then pick up my own cup and drink, thankful that the heated nostalgic episode is over. Hopefully, it’ll be the last.
Having been blighted by hallucinations for the last few days, it takes a few seconds to register the sight of Heather standing at the top of the stairs.
‘What is it?’ Says Starla, noticing my distraction. She turns when I don’t reply.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims, then backing up against me and spilling her tea. I take the cup from her, keeping my eye on Heather. She’s is in the state of semi undress I left her in, only now holding a gun in her right hand. Slowly I lower both drinks and place them gently on the table. But I freeze when the gun rises. It’s not aimed at any particular part of my body and the agent looks unsteady. Not fully in control. A dozen thoughts run through my mind, including where the gun came from and how it’s possible that she’s standing there at all. The only explanation is that she didn’t get the full dose of the serum. I didn’t find the vial. And the gun? Her suitcase. Of course.
‘Heather.’ I say, smiling to hide my alarm. I then stand straight again, assuming that she won’t fire without good reason - though the fact that I drugged her, I guess is.
‘Where’s the cyborg?’ She slurs.
‘What do you mean?’ I say, discretely tucking Starla behind me.
'The cyborg, Inigo!’ I watch her carefully reposition her feet, moving slightly to the left away from the stairs. ‘Where are we going? Spain? Holland? Or actually France? She adjusts her focus then checks her palm. The fluorescent green in her eyes flashes like a faulty halogen light as she attempts to connect to the network. ‘What did you do to my Chip?’
I don’t answer. We're in FUSE territory now. She must connect to the system in order to call for backup. But I’m happy for her to believe, in her narcotised state, that I did something to her Chip so that she doesn’t try to put out a call again. She stumbles suddenly, nearly losing her footing. There’s hardly any motion on the boat. We’re gliding effortlessly through the water, like scissors through silk, but she’s swaying back and forth like we’re in the eye of a storm.
‘Lina?’ She calls up at the ceiling. ‘Where are we?’
There’s no answer.
‘The yacht only responds to my voice Heather.’
The green light in her eyes stops flashing and disappears. I watch her desperately trying to focus on me and keep the gun still. I could try to disarm her. But I fear that a sleepy agent with a gun is almost as dangerous as a fully functioning one and I’m not about to run out and leave Starla exposed.
‘Heather, why don’t you put the gun down and we’ll talk.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Emergency override.’ She says, notably less woozy. Also, the slur has gone.
‘Hello. I’m Lina.’ Comes the voice from above. ‘What is your emergency?’
‘There is no emergency.’ Replies the agent. ‘Tell me my location.’
‘Fire; not detected. Mechanical fault; not detected. Trauma, injury, illness have not been detected on any Chip aboard this vessel…’
‘Just tell me where we are!’ Shouts Heather, loud enough that I hope Hero will have heard.
‘Voice not recognised.
Please state your emergency.’ Replies Lina.
Heathers expression turns to anger. She widens her stance then steadies the gun by placing her left hand under it. She’s becoming more alert by the second. I’m going to have to do something before she finds a way to turn the yacht around. If I can at least delay it until Hero gets here...
‘Put your hands up.’ She orders. ‘Then turn and walk to the controls.’
‘Heather, there’s really no need...’
‘Just do it!’
I raise my hands, then put one foot carefully in front of the other. A figure appears in my right eye, showing that my blood pressure is raised and that I’m lacking oxygen. I blink twice to dismiss it. ‘Who are you really?’ I ask, in a calm, gentle voice for my benefit as much as hers.
‘Heather Rhodes. Agent 723.’ She says, with a sardonic smile.
'How many of you are there?’ I continue, taking another small step forward whilst ensuring that Starla is still covered.
‘Put your hands up! Right up!’ She yells.
‘Understood.’ I say, lifting them higher, then eyeing her exposed shoulders and the curves of her breasts. She appears to notice as my next step forward goes undetected - or at least is permitted.
‘Does your father know what you are?’ I ask, smiling into her eyes.
‘What I do Inigo. I’m not a psychopath. Not all agents are born; some are made. Now, you’re going to turn this boat around or someone is going to get hurt. Get out where I can see you.’ She orders Starla, keeping her eyes on me.
We surreptitiously exchange glances as she comes out from behind me to stand on my right.
‘Just do what she says.’ She whispers.
‘Listen to your girlfriend Jo.’
‘Look Heather, can’t we come to some arrangement?’
‘Turn around.’ She demands, ignoring my question.
‘I’m a journalist.’ I begin, without turning. ‘I make deals. It’s what I do best. I’m sure there’s a way that we can all get something out of this...’
In an instant the gun moves right. There’s a clicking sound and Starla is knocked sideways to the floor. I hear the bullet ricochet off the wall. She grips her left arm and cries out in pain. I then hear a thump and watch Heather fall to the floor, followed by the thunder of heavy boots on the stairs. I’m still trying to make sense of what just happened. Hero rushes to Heather and checks that the agent is unconscious before picking up the gun that fell about a metre from her hand, switching on the safety then tucking the gun into a holster in his jacket. I turn to Starla who passes out before Hero reaches her. I feel the blood coursing through my veins; the pulses in my wrists throbbing like a muted alarm.
‘Get the med pack.’ Hero tells me.
I spring into action, finding the first aid pack in a panel to one side of the controls.
‘Is she okay? How bad is it?’ I ask, hastily returning with it.
I watch as he cuts away the sleeve of Starla’s jumper. ‘Yes.’ He says quickly, then examining the wound before reaching for the medical pack. He pulls out an assortment of supplies. ‘It’s not too bad. ‘He says, applying an antiseptic spray to the area.
‘Thank goodness.’ I say, pushing my hair back.
‘Silent guns aren’t powerful enough to shatter bone. She meant to maim, not kill.’
I see that the wound is a small, clean hole, through flesh and muscle. The bullet went in at an angle and straight out the other side. I heard it hit the wall so there’s nothing to remove. Hero takes two self-adhesive artificial flesh pads from their sealed packets and sticks one on either side of her arm.
‘Will the patches suffice until we get her to a hospital?’ I ask, looking at Starla’s face and wondering if I’ll ever be able to look at her again without questioning my own actions - or inactions.
‘Hospital might not be necessary.’
I play back the last two minutes or so, scrutinising what was said. Could I have prevented it? Did I have time to knock her out of the way, or step in front and take the bullet? It’s a cliché, but it all happened too quickly. But would it have happened if I’d simply done as Heather asked? She wouldn’t have had the opportunity at all if I’d emptied the vial...’
‘Her father’s going to kill me.’ I say, watching Hero clear up the mess.
‘What happened?’
‘I tried to negotiate with Heather.’
‘No, I mean what happened? Why did she wake up?’
‘I don’t think she got all the serum. I lost the vial.’
‘Why didn’t she get it all?’ He says, now injecting something into Starla’s forearm with what looks like a small silver pen.
‘She worked out that I was up to something. She must have been watching our reflection in the window.’ I say, registering the fact for the first time. ‘There was a struggle but I managed to plunge it into her chest.’
‘Her chest?’
‘Yes, but I assumed she’d got the full dose and was out cold.’
‘She appeared to be when I checked on her.’ He says, in a placatory tone.
‘What took you so long?’
‘I was showering.’ he replies, then seeing that my hand is shaking: ‘You okay?’
‘Yes I’m fine.’ I answer, watching as he applies a protective, watertight seal over her arm. He doesn’t sound angry that I messed up spectacularly. He never does. But I sense his disappointment in me. I always could.
‘Ask Lina how long.’ He says, before scooping Starla up in his arms.
‘Lina, how long till we arrive at Le Havre?’
‘Destination Le Havre. ETA twenty minutes.’
‘Lina, please reduce speed now and prepare to drop the anchor in five minutes.’
Hero nods approval.
With Starla still in his arms, he hands me a small tube. ‘DH22.’ He says. ‘As I explained in my instructions. Apply it immediately.’
I take it from him and break it open. DH22 is a distortion gel. It changes the appearance of the skin causing temporary inflammation and puckering. When applied to the face, it can fool surveillance cameras. ‘Shouldn’t we try to wake her?’ I say, gazing at the sleeping woman in his arms with the sting of regret.
‘She won’t wake up - not fully.’ He replies.
I assume that means he’s administered something to keep her asleep for at least the next part of the journey. It’s probably for the best.
‘Find a blanket. I’ll prepare the boat.’
‘What about Heather’s body?’
‘I didn’t kill her Jo. She’ll wake up in Le Havre...eventually.’
Chapter 12
I watch the lights of the Lina Bo disappear into the distance as the yacht heads for Le Havre and we speed towards the bay at Hon Fleur, in the face of the wind. There’s a burning sensation on the pad of my right hand. I’d felt a static shock as the electrical current passed from Hero’s thumb through my skin, to my Chip. I’m now off grid; nonexistent as far as the main authorities are concerned. But agents know otherwise. By now, those working for PEACE will have discovered that we’re alive and on the run, which is why I’m still listening for the sound of helicopters and squinting through the dark at the horizon. That’s why it doesn’t yet feel like freedom.
Hero is sitting low in the boat with his hand on the tiller, steering us left towards the land. I’m cradling Starla under a blanket I found in one of the cabins. Her hands feel cold. I pull her closer to me and adjust her hood. It's light enough to see that the skin on her cheekbones is puckered. It doesn't really look like her anymore, especially with her eyes closed. My own face feels strangely numb. I've never been anaesthetised before. I feel the wind lift my hair as the boats zips through the waves, but I'm otherwise unaffected by it. I’d hastily applied a line of DH22 from my temples to my jaw, then filled in the rest of my face before transferring my clothes from the suitcase to a rucksack and climbing into the boat. I didn’t get a chance to look at myself in a mirror but if it’s anything like my fe
llow fugitives, I’m completely unrecognisable.
The clouds drift gradually north, revealing more of the night sky and a scattering of tiny stars. I can just make out the jagged line of trees beyond the white, moonlit beach. The boat slows as it reaches the shore, a little way down from Hon Fleur botanical gardens. The tide is out so the vessel glides effortlessly to the water's edge. Hero and I step out onto the flat, saturated sand. He holds the boat steady while I lift Starla out then carry her as fast as I can to the trees. She’s surprisingly heavy. Hero drags the boat up the beach behind me. We take a moment to recover in the shelter of the bay as the boat folds itself away. I lay Starla across my lap to keep her off the damp ground and tree roots. It’s the ideal landing spot; darker than most of the English coastline and there's no one for miles around it seems. I find this very reassuring.
Hero and I put the neat little packages into their cases - the carbon boat in one and its motor in the other. I take the cases and two rucksacks. Hero puts his own bag on his back, scoops up Starla, then we make our way through the trees to the road.
There are a handful of parked vehicles at the pickup point; a fully lit open car park with a small white stone building at the far end. The cars are black or white two door bubbles - the most popular design for a decade or so. But our ride is a hired, four door, dark grey saloon which is also self-driving. We need the boot for our baggage and Hero doesn’t fit well in small cars. He hands me a key card and I tap it against the door. Cards are still used to open doors on older models, which is the other reason we needed this car. Though Hero could unlock it without one, it would mean using more energy and he needs to conserve as much as possible. He lays Starla on the front seat and arranges the blanket over her while I put the bags and cases in the boot - careful to keep my head low in case there are cameras. I don't trust the gel entirely, despite how strange and unlike myself I must look. Also, I’m aware of how incredibly suspicious the scene is; two large men carrying cases and bundling a lifeless body into an old car. We’ll be lucky if we get farther than the French border. I climb in to find Hero sitting central in the back seat. This is so that he can see out of the back window without turning his head. I look across at Starla in the reclined seat next to mine and envy the fact that she gets to sleep through all this.
2079- Beyond the Blue Page 12