2079- Beyond the Blue

by Florence Watson

  ‘Start.’ says Hero to the car.

  The dashboards lights up and the safety straps fasten across our chests.

  ‘Où voudrais-tu aller?’ Asks the car in a young man's voice. Hero speaks French and leaves the language settings so as not to draw attention to the fact that we’re foreign.

  ‘Chamonix.’ He replies. ‘Fastest route, maximum legal speed.’

  ‘Tres bien Monsieur.’

  Chamonix is the first of two stops where we must abandon this car and collect another rented vehicle. We’ll travel from there to a third collection point for the last car that will take us the rest of the way to Southern Italy. There’s no guarantee that we’ll lose any agents following, but periodically switching cars increases our chances. The vehicle exits the car park and turns onto the narrow road we just crossed, following it along the coast for the next few miles. Other cars pull out in front and behind from adjoining roads, but none look suspect. Shortly we’re turned left, inland. There are a series of road systems and roundabouts before finally we’re on the dual carriageway and travelling at a more reassuring getaway speed.

  Before long, we’re on the new autoroute. The road is brightly lit but the further we get, the safer I begin feel. There’s nothing on the road behind us and Hero can see much further than I can. I glance across at Starla. Her chest is moving slowly up and down under the blanket. I picture her face as it was when I saw her for the first time on the yacht - before the argument. Before the shooting. I want to wake her up and get it over and done with. I want her to shout at me because it’s my fault that she got shot. The sooner she does, the sooner we can put the matter to rest and I can start feeling better about myself again. I look up at the glass at my unsightly reflection, then past my own face at Hero whose wearing his baseball cap down low.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She’ll be fine.’ He replies, focusing on the road behind. ‘Her stats are all normal.’

  ‘How do you know? She doesn’t have a Chip anymore?’

  ‘I checked the old fashion way.’

  ‘Oh.’ My mind then unexpectedly drifts. I try to imagine living in a time before Chips; when it was necessary to investigate a person's condition by checking for a pulse, inflating a cuff around the arm and releasing pressure, or putting a thermometer in the ear. It occurs to me that from now on, the three of us are solely reliant on these bygone methods for health monitoring. On the plus side, I no longer have to withstand beeps and flashes, alerting me to the high sugar content of the food I’ve just enjoyed.

  ‘I know she’ll be alright.’ I say, returning to my original thought. ‘What I meant was, I’m sorry I messed up.’

  ‘You had a difficult job to do.’

  As no other words follow, I determine that that’s as close to forgiveness as I’m going to get from the man who was right about Heather, who's right about most things in fact and who’s incapable of messing up. But it’s enough. I feel a little better already.

  A few seconds pass in silence then he says: ‘I should have fired sooner.’

  I turn abruptly. ‘You blame yourself?’

  ‘Not exactly. I calculated the risk of Heather seeing me if I’d attempted to get within firing range. The probability of her shooting me first was too high. I didn’t know what type of weapon she was carrying but in hindsight, I could have taken the chance.’

  ‘I see.’ I reply, contemplating his predicament.

  I run through the scenario again. Heather was holding us at gunpoint at the top of the stairs. She was focused on us - at least, as well as she could be given the state she was in. Unbeknown to us, Hero was at the foot of stairs. But Heather wasn’t within firing range unless he moved closer - risking being seen. For all he knew, the gun she had could have killed him. Then it would have all been over. His chance to knock her out came only after she’d pulled the trigger - a split second’s opportunity to shoot her before she turned the gun on him. He put the mission before mine and Starla’s lives because if the agent had killed one of us, he could still have continued with the other. Had I followed Heather’s instructions, she might have followed me to the controls enabling Hero to creep up the stairs unseen. I made it near impossible for him to act. But if I’d got all the serum into the agent in the first place...every way I look at it, this is my fault entirely.

  As if reading my thoughts, he taps my shoulder and says: ‘It’s done Jo. Move on.’

  ‘You’re right.’ I say, glancing at Starla once again and thinking that this is far from done. But perhaps her reaction to my failings is the least of my worries. What happens when we get to Italy and I have to explain everything to her father is far more concerning. I stare out of the darkened window at the flat landscape on my right; endless stretches of eerie countryside occasionally broken by a farmhouse or industrial site. The road is quiet, just like back home. Most people use public transport. A couple of large haulage Bugs pass by in the other direction. We then catch up with a few civilian vehicles, because we’re travelling at maximum speed. I tap my fingers out of habit to check the time and nothing happens. I look across at the dashboard. 7.38pm. I then change the time on my wristwatch to read the same. I’m going to have to get used this. I want to ask Hero if he managed to visit to Arthur Luvel but I’m not sure this is the right time. Besides, he needs to concentrate on the road. I close my eyes, suddenly feeling very tired and a little more at ease. For the first time since this journey began, I allow myself to consider the possibility that we could actually do this. We could get to Italy and find a way to expose the government...

  I wake to sound of Starla stirring in her seat. I check the clock on the dashboard. I’ve been asleep for more than an hour. She opens her eyes then sits up suddenly, panicked at the sight of us both.

  ‘It’s okay.’ I assure her. ‘It’s distortion gel to fool the cameras.’

  ‘Where are we?’ She asks, noticing the blanket over her and throwing it off.

  ‘France.’ answers Hero. ‘Take it easy with that arm.’

  She looks down at her left arm and her eyes widen as she remembers. ‘I got shot!’

  ‘Are you in pain?’ Asks Hero.

  ‘I was shot.’ She says again in disbelief. ‘The red haired woman in her underwear.’

  ‘Time to stop.’ Says Hero, almost as a distraction. ‘We’ll get some food and freshen up.’

  ‘Good idea.’ I answer, happy to be interrupted and released from the pending reproach.

  ‘Pull in at the next charging station.’ Hero tells the car. He takes a cup from the central unit and holds it under the nozzle of the water dispenser.

  ‘N'aimerais-tu pas arrêter pour Charge Plus?’ Answers the car. The dashboard display then changes to show a map of nearest ‘Charge Plus’ station, just under a mile away.

  ‘Affirmative.’ replies Hero, putting the cup in front of Starla.

  The car pulls into the charging station but doesn’t connect as it’s still good for a hundred miles or so. We cross the car park to the shop. Hero told Starla to take it slowly as she might be woozy when she stands. But she marches on ahead of us - fuming with rage or perhaps desperate for the lavatory. Either or both are plausible.

  Inside there are vending machines, toilets, showers, an automated laundry service and exercise bikes. The station is unmanned. Hero and I buy six nutrition bars, three salads and a selection of fruit. He produces a card to pay for the goods. The machine takes it, beeps to confirm the transaction, then spits it back out again. I don’t ask who the card belongs to; I’m just grateful that he managed to obtain it and that some places still accept this method of payment.

  I glance at my misshapen features on one of the mirrored walls. The gel is starting to wear off. There’s a cold, tingling sensation on the surface of my skin - particularly around my hairline - and there’s more movement in my muscles.

  ‘Okay?’ Says Hero, as Starla appears behind me.

  She nods ‘yes’ and we walk to the sliding glass doors. As we step out, I
notice a police car parked in one of the bays opposite. I believe the two officers in the front have seen us. I glance sideways once at Hero who’s also clocked the officials. We continue to the car in as normal a manner as possible, with Starla walking between us. She senses that something's wrong.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Police.’ I tell her. ‘Keep walking.’

  The police car follows us out of the charging station and back onto the autoroute.

  ‘What do we do?’ I ask Hero.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do. Face the front and stay calm.’

  That’s easier said than done. I keep my eyes on the dashboard display and try to resist looking at Starla. I know she’s afraid but I have no words of comfort. It begins to feel as though our capture is imminent. Three minutes pass in silence and I have to really concentrate to stop my leg shaking. I can’t see the police car but assume it’s still following as Hero hasn’t given the all clear and no vehicles have overtaken us.

  Starla suddenly turns to Hero: ‘If they were going to pull us over, wouldn’t they have done it by now?’

  ‘That’s a very good point.’ I say, sanctioning her argument. ‘Maybe they’re just going the same way as us. Hero?’

  He maintains his statue like position in the middle seat and says nothing. Starla’s right though; there’s a chance that it’s coincidence. Proving it is the problem.

  ‘There are two junctions coming up.’ He says at last. ‘If they don’t take the first, we’ll take the second.’

  ‘Which will help determine whether or not we’re being followed.’

  ‘Only if they turn off.’

  My jaw feels tight. I’m clenching, grinding my teeth. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. We approach the first exit then speed past it, continuing on course to Chamonix. I turn carefully to see the police car still following.

  ‘Change course.’ Hero tells the car. ‘Take the next exit.’

  ‘Rediriger.’ Replies the car, gliding to the inside lane. The right indicator flashes on the dashboard.

  I try hard not to think about what would happen if they pulled us over. But visions of being electronically cuffed, taken to the nearest police station then collected from cells by PEACE agents are hard to block out.

  Then suddenly: ‘Continue on course to Chamonix.’ Hero orders the vehicle, just in time before it turns. The indicator light goes off and the car switches lanes again.

  ‘All clear.’ Says Hero after a few seconds. ‘They’ve turned off.’

  We eat our snacks in silence, deep in our own thoughts. I wait for Starla to finish picking apart her nutrition bar and putting the miniscule pieces, one by one, into her mouth. I’m not hungry either. I thought I was, but the rumbles and hunger pangs died as soon as I saw the police car. I need to know how she feels about the shooting. It might be one less thing to worry about if we talked it out. I might even get my appetite back.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I say, turning to her.

  ‘Please Jo; don’t.’ She replies, sounding already exasperated.

  She disposes of the empty packet in the bin of the footwell, then snuggles down into the seat and pulls the blanket up to her chin. This is not good. I know she’s not indifferent to having been shot - or the fact that it was all my fault. So clearly I’m being punished. ‘Can we at least discuss it? I want to explain what happened.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’ She replies, closing her eyes. ‘I worked it out.’

  ‘I wish I'd reacted faster. Or turned the yacht around the first time she asked.’

  ‘So do I.’

  I look at Hero’s reflection in the glass. He’s guzzling down water like it’s in short supply. I could really use some backup right now. But I can’t really blame him for wanting to stay out of it.

  ‘How’s your arm?’ I ask, realising that I’d neglected to comment on the injury.

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Good.’ I reply with a sympathetic smile that’s wasted because her eyes are still shut. The artificial flesh that hero applied starts knitting with the real skin immediately. The wound is probably no more than the size of shirt button now. But that’s not the point. The damage is far worse than I imagined.

  ‘I didn’t think she’d actually shoot you.’

  She opens her eyes suddenly. ‘Despite the fact that she had a gun?’ She says, with an accusatory glare which I consider progress.

  ‘If it’s any consolation’ I answer, leaning forward. ‘she wasn’t trying to kill you. You were a bargaining chip - a way to make me do as she asked.’

  ‘But you didn’t do as she asked, did you?’

  Anger flashes in her eyes and I realise that trying to soften the blow was entirely the wrong thing to do. But I did get a reaction which is a start, and preferable to the cold shoulder. I don’t think it matters what I say right now. Nothing can make it better. In fact, it’s probably best if I say nothing. She needs time to come to terms with it. But I need to know that she eventually will. I can stop beating myself up if I know that it’s just a matter of waiting.

  ‘We’ll have to stop before Chamonix.’ Says Hero. ‘The car needs charging.’

  I look at the figure on dashboard. It’s dropped to twenty seven percent. ‘I thought we were good until we get there?’ I query.

  ‘It’s an old electric car. The battery is temperamental.’

  We decide there’s no point delaying. The sooner we get the car back up to a hundred percent, the sooner we can carry on to our destination. Hero climbs out after connecting it to charge. The station we’ve just pulled into is much like the last, only with fewer parking bays and surrounded by trees. There’s no option to pay by card at the actual charging point, so Hero goes into the shop and I’m left to suffer Starla’s punishing silence. I’ve resigned myself to us not talking until she decides that we can again which could be hours, days, weeks... maybe never.

  Seconds after Hero disappears into the shop, I notice a black car turn in and reverse into a bay behind, four parking spaces away. I get a bad feeling about the vehicle. It’s a new model but large and all the windows are black, including the front. I wait for it to backup and connect but doesn’t.

  ‘Starla.’ I utter, keeping my eye on the vehicle. ‘I think we’re in trouble.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She says, following my eyes to the back windscreen. She peers carefully around the seat. ‘Agents?’ She asks, echoing my own suspicions.

  The door opens and a man in dark heavy combat gear and bright blonde hair steps out. Starla gasps and the colour drains from her face. ‘That’s Giles!’

  ‘Miles?’

  ‘Yes!’

  He’s taller than I’d pictured him to be and quite striking, in an unapproachable way. Even from here I can see that his eyes are cold; void of emotion like a predator’s. How on earth could she have mistaken him for a decent human being? Perhaps it was the Health Worker uniform. It’s amazing what people can get away with when dressed for the part.

  ‘What are we going to do? We have to warn Hero!’

  ‘We can’t leave the car.’ I say, trying to think past my own fluster.

  ‘But they’ll shoot him when he comes out.’ She insists.

  ‘They’ll shoot us if we get out the car. Just keep calm.’ I advise, acutely aware that we’re short of time and that my words are of no comfort whatsoever. ‘Hero would expect us to stay in the car, so that’s what we’re going to do.’ I say firmly, then watch the agent scan the glass front of the shop before stepping back into the car.

  ‘He was confirming that Hero’s is in there.’ I say, as though a commentary were necessary. ‘He’s trapped.’

  ‘Do you think there are others?’

  What she’s really asking is: could Hero take on more than one agent? Possibly. But they’ll be armed and won’t hesitate to open fire as there’d be no witnesses. Hero’s not completely bionic; he’s also flesh and blood. As difficult as it is for me to accept, it is possible for him to die – i
f he’s hit anywhere other than the chest of course. I real bullet would just bounce off. They’d have to shoot him in the face or disable him by firing at his arms and legs. He would avoid a fight he couldn’t win because he’s been trained to calculate risk. I have no idea how we’re going to get out of this.

  The car beeps to let us know that it’s fully charged. Hero will be paying right now.

  ‘What are we going to do Jo?’

  ‘I watch as Miles returns to the car and appears to give a discrete nod of confirmation.

  ‘What happened to Heather’s gun?’ I say out loud.

  ‘How should I know?’ She answers.

  The question was actually part of my thought process, rather than aimed at her. With my head low, I crawl past the unit in the centre of the car and through to the backseat.

  ‘Is it there?’ She calls back.

  ‘No. Hero has it.’ I answer when the gun doesn’t present itself. I didn’t think he’d leave it behind but I had to be sure. I remember him tucking it into the holster under his jumper. He’s had no cause to remove it since which means he’s armed. I crawl back to my seat.

  ‘He has throwing knives too.’ I tell her.

  ‘Good.’ She replies, seemingly revived by the news that Hero is equipped for a fight. ‘He’s taking a long time though.’ She adds.

  Suddenly an idea comes to me. ‘We’ll move the car to the front of the shop.’

  ‘Yes!’ Says Starla, enthused by my stroke of genius.

  ‘Show street view.’ I tell the car, returning to my seat. The display changes to a birdseye view of the charging station. I touch the image of the car we’re in on the screen, then follow with my finger to the point where I want it to stop. I turn to Starla. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yes, go!’

  I'm about to tell the car to start when she says: ‘Jo. Look!’