Exile: Arc

by Jack Lance

  It was true though, the festival had abandoned the drug peddlers and whores that had made the place such a hotbed of crime and degeneracy. It was now just a festival, with the drug sales done unofficially, and out of sight. It was as Arc had predicted, that Nash was cut from a different cloth to the rest of the Fincle tree. He truly did wish to go against the grain, and turn it all around for the better. But Nash was one man in an organization of hyper violent scum, with he himself at the mercy of his own conscience.

  Angels.

  Bailey sniffed and gathered himself together, then pensively looked around at the others on the main street. None looked as if they were interested or about to start shooting in his direction, and so he mustered to leave his meagre hiding place.

  He began walking along in full view of the Old Gang headquarters. Each of its many dotted windows could contain someone with a pair of binoculars, which was common practice with the old incarnation of the syndicate.

  There was nothing he could do about it but to hold his hand up in front of his face as if scratching or something similar, but if he were to do it for too long he would stand out and be clearly spotted.

  Someone then did spot him, as he passed an area of the ground level block bannered as a Naturalistic Mind conversion center. He had momentarily lowered his hands, believing the place to be safe.

  Dane Angell was sitting at the base of one of the tall windows smoking and drinking a small bell glass of wine as he did everyday during his midday break. He saw Bailey passing by at speed, and then heading across to one of the remaining arches on the opposite side of the street. The arch was old and heavily used, containing an automobile repair shop, and once Bailey was out of sight within, Dane dropped his cigarette into the glass and placed it on the windowsill.

  Dane Angell ran down the plastic steps in the old staff corridors of the building, then out into the street and along it toward the motor shop.

  Bailey walked around a car that had been raised slightly to make room for a mechanic. He rapped his hand on the side a couple of times and Rhia NoVakahn slid out from under it on a trolley, next to his feet.

  “Aaron.” she said. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  “Where’s the rest of them?” Bailey said squinting at the empty garage.

  “Lunch break. Nice timing.” Rhia said, standing up. “Should I have a bad feeling about this?”

  “We’re escaping.” Bailey said straight.

  “Again? What’s the death count now on these things?”

  “Over the years? Over the centuries? Thousands? More?” Bailey shrugged. “But you signed up for it once, and we need you on this one.”

  “I want to escape but I don’t want to get chewed up. Why should I believe in you?”

  “This is all me. My own plan.”

  “Rumour is you fed Old Gang a plan that got them killed. Why would you do that?”

  ”Needed to test the defences didn’t I? As well as a few other things. You got a problem with that?”

  “I couldn’t give a shit, bud. But how do I know you aren’t going to use me the same way?”

  “You’re far too pretty.” Bailey smiled, making Rhia’s black skin blush slightly.

  Rhia shrugged in her overalls and said “What do you need me for?”

  “I have a set of large robotic drones. They need a full service and check. And some other robotics. All need to be in full working order when we make the push.”

  “Sounds almost too easy.” she said emptily. “I guess you can count me in. I’m getting so sick of all this. And someone from the smoker’s café down the street went missing a week ago. Nobody tied to the syndicates or gangs. It was…”

  “An abduction.” Bailey nodded. “The old carvery lottery.”

  Rhia looked away saying nothing.

  “You need to be sure.” Bailey said.

  “I am. So who do I call boss?”

  “Randall. He’ll coordinate the rest.”

  Dane listened from just outside the arch, hiding against the outer wall.

  Bailey kissed Rhia goodbye and then left the garage, walking past Dane who crouched behind one of the broken down cars that were waiting to be serviced outside.

  Then Bailey had gone away, and Dane got up and watched as Bailey walked at speed along to a set of lobby doors leading into the Fincle block. Dane ran to follow, keeping a short distance behind.

  Bailey headed through the gangster filled lobby to the rear where he used a holo plate to call a particular kind of elevator. It rose below him, this a darker shaded glass, and then lifted him up into the elevator shaft.

  Dane took a risk entering the lobby before he was out of sight, but Bailey did not look down as he travelled up into the ceiling.

  Dane followed on in another piss smelling elevator, using the same dark glass platform as he had seen Bailey call.

  Bailey travelled up and out of the top of the building, through a glass shaft that traversed the small space between the roof and the cavern ceiling.

  It was a trip generally ill advised to take unless you had been specifically invited. Bailey had not been invited, but there was no other way. Time was a factor, and risks would have to be taken.

  Through the cavern ceiling, it travelled up through a wide tunnel in the rock. It emerged from the bed of the northern sea, through a tube sunk into the sand, and raised up through the depths to a rectangular silhouette against the light from above.

  It was a building just off shore, and sunk beneath the surface of the sea. A pier led out to it, to its weed covered top floor which sat just above the water’s surface.

  On its underside, the tube led up and into it. Bailey watched the empty blue ocean disappear and then the organic plush décor of the circular hall within come to view.

  It was a waiting area at the entrance to the place, a VIP grade restaurant and club created and run generations back by Old Gang, and reinvented for it’s rebirth.

  As he stepped off the glass platform on to the thick white carpet, he saw beside the reception someone arguing with the robot there, and a male guard walking over to join in.

  Bailey tried to ignore this and walked by them to the counter and swiped his access card across the plate. A small green light beside the plate indicated he had been granted access, and so he marched around the desk and through one of many sets of tall double doors that encircled this front of house.

  He marched on down a tall flight of opulent steps that led to the narrow base of a tall corridor. It led across the rest of the length of the building, to another much taller pair of double doors, all of which sat in a pit of vulgar scarlet.

  On each side of the carpet running the length of the corridor were a line of statues, with each depicting a different figure of Lantis military history. It ran chronologically from the factional wars of early history through to wider space based technocratic conflicts. Each leaned on their weapons or equipment, staring lecherously at the point you’d cross on the walk.

  Bailey strode up to the double doors, causing them to tug inward on their rotors. He strode directly onward into the long banquet hall, and singled out Nash Fincle amongst the syndicate leaders, at the far end of an extremely long dining table.

  “Nash Fincle.” Bailey said as he stopped at the other end of the table.

  “Aaron Bailey. Welcome to my humble abode.” he said, glancing sardonically at the others sharing his meal time.

  “I need to borrow Francine.” he said, and smiled at her as she squirmed slightly at Nash’s side.

  “But we’re having a meal.” Nash said flipping a palm at his bulging plate.

  “Looks interesting. What is it?” Bailey said craning to see from the distance.

  “High life init? Opulence you might call it. ” Nash said with a full mouth, then pointed a fork at the door behind Bailey. “We intend to try everything in this biosphere, in one sauce or another. This is a new crime order, unrestrained as with the old.”

  “I like how you’re buildin
g it up. Just let me know if you need anything.” Bailey said, and nodded at Francine, signalling her to get up

  We need to be quick, they want to kill us. We aren’t fitting in to this dream.

  “We’re going to build from here, personally, professionally and physically.” Nash said. “I don’t think that involves you to be honest.”

  Grotesque dream. Speed!

  “Ah well.” Bailey shrugged looking away. “I still like the place. Looks just like the Sagar household… Before they were all killed that is.”

  “It’s funny you should mention that.” Nash said looking up from his plate. “Turns out you were there the day that weird device went off, and you were the only one that survived? You didn’t mention that then or since for that matter. And the more I hear on the technical side, the more it sounds like one of your little grenades.”

  Suddenly Bailey could feel the full length of the corridor behind him, and how far it would be if he had to make a run for it.

  “You’re losing it, Fincle. How could I have been walking around if I were in a blast like that? Maybe your gout’s shifting to your brain?”

  “You can stretch my good will too far! You’re acting like you’re lost.” Nash raised his voice slightly now. “Maybe you’re forgetting that you got my family killed? You owe Fincle. You owe me!”

  “My allegiance is to the city. You’re threats and innuendos are a cut below that, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t give me all that you pretentious fucking shit…” Nash raised his voice further, and standing up. “Franky, go talk to your friend. Then get rid of him.”

  Francine stood up and ran lightly along the length of the table, then walked out through the doors with Bailey.

  They closed automatically behind them, and then Bailey began to quickly speak.

  “This is all my fault. I’m sorry.” Bailey said guiding her along by her elbow.

  Francine tugged at it with a feminine amount of strength and whispered forcefully at him “You have to get me out of here!”

  Nash Fincle and the others he had been dining with were watching a holographic model of their conversation, mounted on the table before him. The view from a solar war mechanoid was trained directly at them, with its fully functioning spy equipment housed in its face, which itself was breathing very faintly. Each of the wax sculptures, unbeknown to either Bailey or Francine, contained an actual living person that had crossed Old Gang over the years.

  Nash has quite a pallet.

  “What? Err… We’re going this week sometime.” Bailey stammered, as he stood in miniature on the table between the members of the syndicate. “It’s all set apart from one more thing. And you. We need you to help break open the control tower entrance. It’s a plain mechanic’s job.”

  “At last. Oh thank you, Aaron.” she said, and kissed him a few times on the face. The men and women at the table looked at Nash, who blinked and kept looking at the flickering display.

  “This time its all planned in advance. Do you believe it?” he said leaning back.

  “This is our destiny, Aaron. I can feel it. This kind of time, like a magical train you can’t stop. It’s gonna happen. We’re going home!”

  “Ok. But calm down for now.” he said, pushing her away slightly, and looked along the length of the corridor at the short black man approaching.

  He saw then that it was Dane Angell, and stared at him for a moment considering something.

  “I feel a little bad leaving the colony this way. Old Gang are going to be back stronger than ever.” Francine said turning away.

  “Nash has learned how to talk the talk. But it’s a sure bet that none of this will last. It will be back to rape and narcotics… back to the money.” Bailey said to her back.

  “You’re so wrong about me. But it’s alright, you’ll see.” Nash said quietly.

  Francine entered the tall doors followed presently by Dane Angell, while Bailey walked away in the dark behind them.

  Nash swallowed his pride and said “Mr Angell. What does God want with me now?”

  “It’s important.” he said with wide eyes, and glanced at Francine. “In private.”

  In the corridor outside, on the spot where the previous conversation had happened, Nash reached over and flicked a switch on the spy visor of the waxed model so that it could not record their conversation.

  “They’re escaping.” Dane said, panting slightly having walked further than his metabolism would normally allow.

  “Is that all?’ Nash shook his head. “You’re a little late. I just heard it from the mouth of my snake of a fiancé. Is there anything else?”

  Dane leaned at him closer through the low light and said “Why don’t we go with them? They want to cut us out again. Why don’t we hitch a ride? By force if necessary.”

  Nash paced slightly then said “I was thinking the same way. You think you can help with this?”

  “They trust me. Unlike you, they don’t know why I was sent here.” Dane said vacuously.

  Nash looked at him for a moment, as he stared back at him with wide, bloodshot eyes.

  “You think you can crack this? What did you have in mind?” Nash asked.

  “The wedding.” Dane said, and Nash realized something about Dane Angell. He wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

  The Wanted World.

  Bailey began retracing his steps now. He took the same elevator back down into Old Gang Central, and walked at a quickened pace back the way he had come. He made it back to the apartment district where he had left the train and took a short cut through the back alleys.

  The alleys were filthy and in some places thick to the heel with cardboard and sediment that he had to dance around to avoid. But he felt safe in the near dark, shaded by the close sides of the apartment blocks to either side that twisted toward the greasy, embedded lighting overhead.

  Within sight of the mainstreet leading to the tram he heard a voice from behind in the shadows.

  “Not so fast.” the words came and ahead another man stepped from the shadows there, holding a large shotgun.

  Three men. Don’t let me die!

  Bailey looked at the man ahead and then over his shoulder at the one behind. The man behind hadn’t drawn his weapon yet, which was a mistake to be exploited.

  Quickly, Bailey shot the man ahead in the face while diving and slipping his finger over the dead man’s trigger finger. As the man behind made to draw his pistol Bailey shot a heavy round through his chest, thrusting him back from his feet while losing grip of the pistol, that clattered down to the damp alleyway.

  Behind him now, the third man Arc had seen dived through the air before the light of the bustling main street brandishing a knife. Bailey swung the shotgun up and blasted him, throwing him into a spin in the air before dropping to the lane.

  In the main street the passers by were still oblivious to what had transpired.

  He looked at the three dead men and then threw the shotgun into the gutter. He turned and made his way calmly out of it to the street, and then on through the crowds up to the nearest tram station.

  After a short time waiting, and gazing out over the addict filled neighbourhood he caught a tram heading back south.

  Once he was sure he was safe in transit, and not about to be shot at where he stood, he contacted Randall on the multi-com.

  “That’s it, friend. They’re all on board.” Bailey said wearily, and looked at a middle aged man standing near him, considering if he could interpret the meaning of his words. “I’ll head to the main lab now. Bye.”

  There were white tents being erected all through the city now Bailey noticed, showing their support for the marriage of Dora Beldin and Lon Sagar, and for the new Syndicate that was to be born under their rule. District after district seemed to be readying for the party. Bailey blinked and looked away from the window as it all rushed by.

  He returned to Double G’s neighbourhood, and made haste to the gently glowing stable entrance in the terraces. He w
atched as his car turned a corner within, rolled up the steep incline, and out onto street level. After checking it over slightly he got in and drove slowly down to the end of the street, being careful not to hit the dopey children that were playing there.

  He drove up the tunnel to the crystal highways and stopped at a ring road traffic light. Sighing a little he leaned against the steering wheel, then mumbled “Robot control tower…”

  The hologram route finder on the far side of the window plotted a short course across the highways. He’d need to travel north a ways before heading down to the moors, where he could walk to the tower from there. He looked up at it over the steering wheel as its murky white light spun in the distance beyond the sky hazes.

  The traffic light turned green and Bailey drove along to the next roundabout to the north and stopped again at the traffic lights.

  “This is gonna take forever.” he groaned as he surveyed the afternoon traffic ahead.

  He was rubbing his eyes, trying to stay awake when his multi-com rang. Seeing that it was Port Farnon he answered promptly.

  “Hello, kid.” he said while Arc interjected, as he often did, distracting his weary attention.

  The path now ahead is winding and darker.

  “Bailey!” Port half shouted over the line. “Can you talk now? This is huge! I found out who took out the contract! Listen to this...”

  Bailey froze up slightly, pondering this, as two cars of lesser make and model rolled up alongside his own, and another similar car to the rear.

  “What’s so…” he began, but saw in the car on the nearest side, both driver and passenger wearing balaclavas and winding the window down.

  Then in the rear view mirror, he watched as another masked man leaned far out of the sunroof of the car behind, and aimed a broad, double barrel shot gun at the back of his head.

  At all three sides sawn off shotguns and the like were being aimed in his direction.

  Bailey flicked the sports car into reverse and wheelspun it back over, ramming the car behind while the shot from one of the side cars flew over the bonnet and pasted the bounty hunters on the opposite side.