by Tara Basi
One red dot. No red dots.
One green dot.
Thank Jesus and the Tramp, Mathew had seen her cry for help. A wave of water rattled the gyro. “Do you have the Record?”
She wondered what the invisible Mathew would do if she said no, if it were lost in the lake. Would he leave her to die? It didn’t matter; she’d have killed herself at the bottom of this flooded blast crater if she had no way of saving Alice and the girls. Still, she wasn’t going to make it that easy for the Mathew machine.
“Maybe.”
There was a long, frightening silence with only the countdown to suffocation for company.
Invisible forces pushed aside the gyro, and hard arms scooped her up. Mathew powered up towards a dull light, breaking the surface to reveal an asphalt sky and the same dirty rain. Mathew helped her ashore, dropped her kitbag and then stood apart.
“Coast is near. The ferryman will harness me and then kill you if you don’t have the Record.”
Zip understood. Mathew was only being pragmatic. “I have it.”
She didn’t need to check her scope to know that more red dots would be coming to investigate. Zip reloaded the rifle and threw the kitbag onto her back. The machine turned away from her and crouched. She didn’t know how fast Mathew could run or for how long, only that it would be faster and further than she could manage. It was creepy and undignified, but she climbed onto Mathew’s shiny back. He hooked her legs with his arms, and he took off like a missile. If felt like being on a motorbike. His back could have been carved from a single block of steel, yet his movements were as sinuous as a panther as he jigged around and over obstacles without losing speed. Even more disconcerting was the smoothness of the ride. Somehow, Mathew was absorbing the impact shocks in his legs. His upper body hardly moved at all. The ride was so smooth she felt secure enough to unwind one arm from around Mathew’s neck, lift the rifle scope to eye level and scan the retreating landscape.
Her head jerked back in shock. She wasn’t going to have enough bullets. A crimson tidal wave was after them and not far behind. Straining her eyes, she sought out any visible signs of their pursuers. Zip couldn’t see anything obvious to the rear; the ruins and patches of open water looked empty. Maybe, maybe not? There was an unexpected dust cloud over to the right, ripples on a lake that had no obvious cause, an unexpected shimmering in the air not too far back – stealthy little buggers.
“You know they’re after us?” she said to him.
“Yes. Shoot the nearest. We’ll be out of range soon.”
Zip picked out four of the closest targets and fired. She was rewarded with four balls of electrical fireworks. Wild blue arcs cut through the rain, and her nostrils filled with the smell of ozone. The two seconds for the rifle to reset were too long. Eight targets presented themselves in an arc. They were all close. Zip chose four that might cause some peripheral damage and fired. Four exploded and two more were crippled. Seventeen took their place, and they were even closer.
“It’s hopeless, Mathew, there are too many.”
He didn’t answer. He leapt over some obstacle, jarring Zip for the first time and forcing her to hold on with both arms, leaving the rifle to slide around her back. She braced for the landing, braced and waited. Seconds went by. All Zip could see was her own terrified expression in Mathew’s mirrored back. With a loud crunch, they landed and stopped. Mathew released her legs. Zip slowly took her own weight, unwound her grip and staggered back. She tried to spin around quickly and bring the rifle up to her face, but her footing was unsteady and crunching loudly. She was standing on rough shingle. Only just keeping her balance, she scanned the way they’d come. Behind her, beyond a shingle beach, was an earth bank topped with the skeletons of old houses. The red wave had stopped in a line as though held back by some invisible dam. As she continued scanning right and left, the red dots were dispersing, back the way they’d come. Mathew was right: they’d passed out of their area, into whose?
Zip turned back towards Mathew. He was standing by the shoreline looking out over a putty sea lapping lethargically against the stony beach. The slow rain was still falling in dribs and drabs. “Are we safe here?”
Mathew didn’t turn around. “Relatively. Church boat coming.”
Zip joined him at the water’s edge and scanned the horizon. Dark seas merged with dark skies and both merged into one muddy mess. Zip turned to stare at Mathew. In this landscape, he looked like a god.
“Thanks. For getting me this far.”
“Make sure they don’t cheat us. I must speak to Professor Simmons. It’s time I understood who I am, what I am, why I exist.”
She needed those answers too; who didn’t? “I’ll make sure.” Zip turned her gaze to the little pebbles bravely resisting the might of the sea and remembered Peter. “Why did you kill Kiki?”
“Creep said killing her would lead to answers. Liar or not, Creep was right.”
“Who paid?”
“Someone or something pretending to be Kiki.”
Zip stopped studying the pebbles and looked at Mathew. “Pretending?”
“Knew too much and said too much.”
Zip crossed her arms and held herself tightly. “How so?”
“I’m invisible, she found me. Told me she was Peter’s daughter straightaway. Now I see it was a trap … but one that still hasn’t sprung.”
Zip shivered. She suspected that it was a trap for her as well. A part of her wanted to start screaming in frustration. So many clues and still no answers that made any sense. She felt like a piece in a jigsaw puzzle that someone else was assembling.
A lonely tolling bell out at sea drew her attention. The mournful sound was coming from an ancient fishing boat rocking gently in the thick waves a few metres off shore. A small rowboat was lowered into the sea. A man in a blue hazard suit clambered aboard and set off slowly towards the beach where they were waiting. When he grounded on the shingle, he studied Zip and Mathew carefully. Seemingly satisfied, he threw a small bag at Mathew – “Kill-vest, put it on.” – then turned his attention to Zip. “You got the Record?”
Zip held up the shiny piece of technology for a second before stowing it back in her suit, then reloaded her rifle and cradled it purposefully in her arms. She wasn’t giving up her weapon, not yet. Mathew removed a waistcoat made of glass threads and shiny lights from the bag. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped on the restraint. Now, whoever had the vest’s control could disable him instantly. It could be someone on the fishing boat or a director in Paris. Zip shuddered; it was like seeing a magnificent animal caged. He wouldn’t be able to protect her anymore.
Satisfied, the rower beckoned. Zip climbed aboard. Mathew launched the rowboat off the beach with one mighty shove, walked into the sea and disappeared below the lethargic waves. After Zip had boarded, and to her relief, Mathew reappeared. He was climbing up the anchor chain.
Crossing the lifeless sea in the fishing boat was tedious and depressing. No one spoke. Mathew had turned to stone. The crew kept their distance and stared aimlessly at the invisible horizon, as though searching for a destination. The air was thick and still. It rained steadily and the clouds and sea were indistinguishable; everything was the colour of cold porridge, and the sea stank of rotting fish. The old boat creaked and groaned as it parted the pasty waters, driven on by a tired engine that rumbled under her feet, reviving memories of her first unsteady steps in Sediment Town. No, not the first time. The shiny Record she was taking to the Church was proof of that.
The only indication of progress was a falling radiation count in her Headgear. Nothing else changed. Zip began to imagine they’d been cursed to sail in endless circles. It wouldn’t be for killing an albatross; there were no birds flying over this barren channel. She was shaken out of her melancholic introspection by the crew, who’d suddenly sprung into life. They’d climbed out of their hazmat suits, revealing the uniforms of Church commandos, and started moving purposefully about the deck. Radiation and other ha
zardous contaminations had fallen to survivable levels. It was a reminder that not everywhere was as poisoned as Britain. Out of the gloom, a stone harbour came into view. And there was a welcome party waiting. The dock wall was lined with Church troopers. The old boat groaned and rocked as it butted up against the hard stones. A couple of the crew jumped ashore and tied up.
They took her weapon before they let her climb up the harbour steps. The silent troopers grabbed her arms and led her towards a heavy-duty transport helicopter. They must have been warned about Mathew’s weight. The guards kept their distance, weapons ready, and let Mathew follow. She climbed aboard, moving across the bench seat to leave room for Mathew, and buckled up. When Mathew didn’t appear, she slid back towards the door to check on him, only to see a Church trooper fastening a chain around Mathew’s ankles. The machine was standing impassively. Zip realised what the troopers were planning.
“Hey, he’s wearing a harness. What are you doing?” Zip called out.
A brawny trooper sitting opposite pushed her back into her seat. “That thing’s not getting in here with us.”
His tone was final. If she tried to argue, they might leave Mathew behind. Zip sat back and sucked it down. The engines started up with a coughing roar and up they went. Looking out, she watched helplessly as Mathew was dragged off his feet and up into the air to hang upside-down under the belly of the climbing helicopter. His arms were held rigidly at his sides, his whole body as stiff as a girder. He probably didn’t care if he was inside or hanging underneath, but Zip did; it was disrespectful. Mathew had once fought alongside the Church and helped beat the AIs before he’d lost his head. Zip sighed, folded her arms, sat back in her seat and resigned herself to the situation. The helicopter banked and accelerated away with Mathew in tow.
An injured landscape with hopeful islands of green unfurled beneath the helicopter as they sped towards Paris. Zip smiled. One day the land might be beautiful again. The smile didn’t take when she remembered the risks of another war. Thankfully, the flight was much shorter than the Channel crossing. Within an hour, they were passing over the carpet of shanty town roofs that rolled over the ruins of the old city and surrounded the Church’s palace. They settled behind the mansion walls, allowing time for Mathew to be landed, his chain removed and taken to one side by waiting troops before the helicopter itself set down. Zip was bundled out and led to a low square structure, set apart from the main building. Inside, it was bare except for a set of doors to a large elevator already open and waiting. She was joined by Mathew and six troopers, who kept weapons trained on both of them. The doors slid closed, and they plunged into the earth.
When the doors swung open, they were led down a brightly lit corridor, with many doors, and deposited in a secure, windowless room, where Director Thick and a white-coated technician were waiting for them.
“The Record,” the director said, holding out his hand.
Zip saw no point in arguing; she placed the crystal in his palm.
The director held it up to the light and studied it for a moment. “Such a remarkable piece of technology. She was exceptional. I do hope it’s hers, for all our sakes.”
The director gave it to the technician, who inserted it into a terminal she was holding and stared intensely at its small screen.
Zip fidgeted and fretted at the thought that it might not be Professor Simmons’.
The director’s gaze was fixed on the technician who was poking and prodding his terminal for what seemed far too long. Finally, the technician looked up and nodded.
The director smiled, and Zip felt a little of the building tension in her shoulders dissipate.
“When can we speak to her?”
“When we have what we want.”
“What about Alice and the girls?”
The director shut his eyes for a few seconds before he spoke. “They’re on their way home. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Before she could say anymore, the director, the technician and the guards swept out of the room and locked the door, leaving Zip and Mathew alone. Zip collapsed into a chair, exhausted. At least her family was safe. Mathew remained standing, looking vaguely like a ridiculous Christmas decoration in his sparkling vest. Taking the time to look around the colourless room, she thankfully noted there was food and water set out on a small table. Struggling back to her feet, she grabbed something to eat and slaked her thirst. Zip hadn’t realised how hungry she was. With a handful of sandwich and a bottle of water, she turned to look at Mathew and felt guilty.
“Can’t I try getting that vest off?”
“You’ll be electrocuted, and I’ll be damaged.”
There was nothing to do but wait till the director came back.
“What do you do for energy? How are you powered?”
“I don’t know. Neither did Creep, or so it said. Another question for Professor Simmons.”
Zip nodded and sat down on a cot bed. They might get to see Professor Simmons, and they might get to live afterwards, and then they might be freed. Where would she go if she got her answers and if they let her go? Zip didn’t know. She decided it might depend on the answers. With Mathew inert again and nothing else to do, she decided to get some sleep. It came remarkably quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Zip and Beta
Someone was cutting open her head with a blunt saw. She woke up with the metal teeth still biting into her skull and more red Headgear warnings flashing in her eyes than she’d ever seen. Her blurry, agony-crippled eyeballs were being lashed by the room’s rapidly flashing lights. Zip needed help. She was dying. She cried out for Mathew. There was no answer. Her knuckles flew to her temples. She tried to beat the pain out of her brain. Her vision cleared a little, but the pain was only getting worse.
At the centre of the room, Mathew was having some kind of fit. He was a blur of chaotic movement. His arms and legs flew about like whips, faster than she could follow. Zip had to look away. The flashing room lights bouncing off his thrashing body turned him into a kind of manic disco strobe. It was too much. Zip squeezed her eyes shut. The sawing pain was worse than a hundred migraines. She frantically resumed punching her own temples, trying to beat out one pain with another. It wasn’t helping. Zip screamed.
She rolled off the cot and fell to the floor. The hard landing distracted her long enough to think. Maybe Mathew was the source. If she could get away … She kept her eyes closed, kept her hands pressed to her head and wriggled forward on her elbows and belly. Her cheeks were wet and she could taste blood. The door was so far. The sawing picked up speed. Cut deeper. Zip collapsed. Her face fell into her hands. She tried to raise herself. Both hands were covered in blood. Her brain was haemorrhaging. Her ears, eyes and nose were bleeding. She’d be dead soon. Her face fell back into her palms. Then nothing.
It all stopped. The flickering lights stabilised. The Headgear warnings faded to amber, then disappeared, and the unbearable pain vanished. Had she dreamt it all? No, her hands were covered in dark stains. Zip looked up. Mathew was moving slowly, randomly jerking a limb and shivering, as though he was cold. In another moment, the machine was its usual still self.
“What happened to me?” Zip whispered.
“Don’t know.” Mathew’s voice was unemotional; it betrayed nothing.
“Did the Church do it? Why?”
“Don’t know,” Mathew repeated.
Zip slowly got to her knees. Apart from the dried blood caking her hands and probably her face, she felt fine. “What happened to you?”
“Virus attack. It was winning. It stopped.”
Zip checked her Headgear logs. Nothing. No trace of an attack. All the alarms were flagged as false positives. Zip groaned and shook her head as though that might dislodge some insight into what was going on. It didn’t. Frustrated, Zip walked to the door and started banging. “Let us out! What’s going on?”
“My harness isn’t functioning,” Mathew said.
Zip stopped banging on the door. “What? Church
wouldn’t do that. Can you break us out?”
“Wouldn’t survive. Too many troopers. Wait.” He squeezed one of the vest’s pea-sized glass connectors between a thumb and finger till it was the consistency of icing sugar. A small white cloud fell to the floor when he opened his hand. “It’s disabled. Shouldn’t be obvious.”
Zip nodded. Mathew’s harness didn’t look any different. Church might not know. He was right; they would wait. Unless the pain came back. She wouldn’t be able to stand it. Mathew would have to break her out. Wandering over to the small table with supplies, she helped herself to a bottle of water and a handful of napkins before returning to the cot to wait. Wait for what exactly? A director to come and get them? What if Orb Industries had attacked the palace? Everyone else might be dead. Something wasn’t right.
Zip wet a napkin and wiped her face. It took quite a few more before they stopped turning pink. She stretched out and tried to relax. The pain had gone but not the memory.
Minutes later, the door burst open and the technician who’d scanned Professor Simmons’ Record stumbled into the room, looking terrified. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was kneading his forehead with one hand.
“You have to come with me, quickly,” he whispered, as though the sound of his own voice hurt, then rushed out without waiting for a reaction.
Zip stepped out into the corridor and immediately stepped back inside the room, then cautiously peeked out. In both directions, the bodies of troopers and churchmen lay face down or slumped against the wall, unmoving. Some distance away, the technician beckoned furiously. Until she knew exactly what was going on, Zip decided to see where he wanted to take her.