Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats

by Stuart Parker

  *

  Gagel was unconscious on the floor of the snub-nosed AT Express’s lead carriage. Kaptu Z turned to the train driver, who hadn’t yet noticed and shouted above the roar of the engine, ‘Looks like she’s fainted. The pressure of the situation.’

  The train driver frowned. ‘I thought Special Forces were made of sturdier stuff.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll come good soon. Unfortunately, we’re all heading for trouble unless we take evasive action right now.’

  The train driver was a short, blonde woman. She looked incredulously at the streaking lights of the seemingly endless tunnel. ‘We are travelling seven hundred kilometres per hour deep within a mountain. I don’t think we have much to fear now.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. Mas knows where we are and it’s not only communication satellites we can hack. The chances of making Zurich are slim.’

  ‘Weapons satellites are not so easily hijacked.’

  ‘Perhaps those over Switzerland would take her some time. But there are other countries not so careful of the weaponry in their skies. Italy perhaps. Eastern Europe certainly. Mas can take over one of those devices and bring it within range. Even at these speeds, the trip to Zurich will give her time enough.’

  The train driver was concerned. ‘What can we do?’

  ‘Change course for the French border. And keep it to ourselves. Go as far as we can before we’re discovered.’

  ‘We’ll be discovered straightaway. Nothing moves on these tracks without the System knowing it.’

  Kaptu Z reached into his backpack. ‘I’m carrying more than just a sick dog. He pulled out a thin micro-wafer. ‘It’s a cloaking device from the CIA. It works.’

  ‘Alright,’ said the train driver. There’s a junction beyond this mountain pass. We’ll change there. How long will it take to go stealth?’

  Kaptu moved to the control console. ‘Thirty seconds once the micro-wafer is inserted.’

  ‘Shifting the points will be detectable. We can be tracked through their movement.’

  ‘The cloaking device works like a local anesthetic. We will not be detected.’

  ‘Then you have two minutes to insert the chip.’ The train driver disengaged the auto-controls and glanced at Gagel. ‘How long do people stay fainted for?’

  Kaptu did not reply. He was busy inserting the stealth chip.

 

  9 On the run

  The group of important people, huddled together on red velvet sofa chairs, were drinking Napa Valley sparkling wine and picking at platters of cheeses, olives and meat shavings from silver trays. The vigil offered of the nightscape from the San Francisco Tower’s penthouse lounge was every bit as bubbly and pure as the ever so light nectar in their glasses. And they made a point of keeping their glasses constantly refilled, doing what the well of life could not.

  Renaissance was at the head of the polished black marble table and was joined by her assistant Spiros Pardos, Swiss Ambassador Betz and Insurance Agent Chezel. It was past midnight but no one had any inclination of retiring to bed. They could not sleep for fear of what they might lose before they woke up again.

  ‘It is only a matter of time before Mas is caught now,’ said Betz, running his fingers along the rim of his glass. ‘Our Government will be compelled to respond to her brutal actions on Mount Par. And we will pursue her to the ends of the earth to do it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite sure your Government will apply for a death warrant on her at the World Court,’ said Chezel. ‘And they will be granted it too.’

  ‘There is already a death warrant current for her,’ said Renaissance. ‘But such things are meaningless if there is no target. And she is not on the System, don’t forget.’

  ‘The death warrant already issued originates from East Africa. But she is in Europe now and there are no jungles there to conceal her.’

  There was a knock on the door. All eyes turned expectantly that way, for there was only one person who had been granted access to their door. McRaven strode into the room like he was still carrying momentum from the jet fighter he had just flown in on. ‘The train has been found at the border.’ he said. ‘The driver and Sergeant Gagel are alive but unconscious - drugged by some kind of barbed barbiturate.’

  ‘Barbed barbiturate?’ murmured Ambassador Betz. ‘I’m not sure I’m familiar with such a substance.’

  ‘They are drugs designed to react badly when antidotes are applied,’ Pardos explained. ‘In this case, it is a sleeping drug. We’d best let them sleep it off for risk of death.’

  ‘Sounds terribly primitive. Why wouldn’t your man simply use a standard memory inhibitor?’

  ‘Because such drugs are not available in Asylum City,’ said Renaissance. She turned to McRaven. ‘Any sign of Kaptu Z?’

  ‘No. It is quite likely he has already slipped into France. That seems to be the direction he is taking. But with all due respect this is not my team’s specialty. We deal with emergency extractions, not playing hide and seek.’

  ‘Perhaps, the adjusted mission statement should read wanted dead or alive for the protagonists on both their side and ours,’ snapped Pardos. ‘Kaptu is flaunting laws and is completely out of control. If we condone this kind of behaviour, our insurance premiums will not allow for another mission ever again.’

  Renaissance calmly sipped her wine. ‘It would not do to try having him arrested. That would require diverting resources away from the pursuit of Mas.’

  ‘Which I can assure you are considerable,’ added Betz.

  ‘Yes, quite. I do not believe we will hear from Kaptu again until Blast has been revived from its cocoon. Two whole weeks from now. If we haven’t got Mas by then, they will come into play. For now, let’s just say that Kaptu has gone underground more or less like he was instructed to do. A chance for him to take a break from his grim existence. And who would deny him that?’

  ‘Mas,’ replied Insurance Agent Chezel bluntly. ‘Pardos is right. Letting this play out risks bankrupting Hurt World in its entirety.’

  Renaissance smiled at McRaven. ‘Fetch yourself a glass. I’ll pour you a drink.’

  She waited until McRaven was settled at their table of polished walnut before giving the Swiss Ambassador a somewhat uneasy gaze. ‘Of course, I cannot speak for your government. I can only hope they would not turn my technician into a fugitive.’

  ‘At this stage there is no plan in that regard. We agree that all energies should be focused on Mas’s apprehension. Switzerland will certainly claim the right to lead the investigation. And if Mas pursues your technician out of Switzerland, that will be fortuitous for us. It will mean our home assets are no longer exposed.’

  ‘I’ve very glad you feel that way.’

  ‘But my government would like to know where your technician is going. He commandeered a train intended for Zurich and absconded with it to the edge of France. Prior to that, he had purchased a ticket to Paris on the regular service. So why the interest in France? Do you have a safe house there?’

  Renaissance shook her head. ‘Kaptu Z is moving on his own free will. And to be honest, I think it is better that way. Mas is our uninvited third ear, so the less communication the better. Not that we won’t continue to stay active. Our Operations Centre will remain open twenty four hours a day and I will remain here personally for the duration.’ She picked up a cube of blue vein cheese from amidst the antipasto. ‘You are welcome to stay as well. We have rooms at your disposal.’

  Ambassador Betz nodded. ‘I think I should remain close in case there are any developments.’

  ‘I too should remain close to the decision making process,’ said McRaven.

  ‘And without knowing what the protagonists are up to, the insurance policy must remain adaptable,’ said Chezel.

  Renaissance looked around the table and seemed pleased. ‘We will focus on retracing Mas’s footprints, both short term and long term, uncovering leads for when Blast is operational again. The twenti
eth floor of the San Francisco Tower Hotel is on its way to being the world authority on Mas.’

  ‘But a long way from the woman herself,’ said Pardos.

  ‘Closer than you might think. We’ve established one thing at least. She reads our mail.’

  10 The whisky runner

  Kaptu Z gained entry through the ancient sewers. The fossilized feces stained upon the walls bore no smells, the bacteria within having long since died. Kaptu wondered if the dirty bomb of 2038 had killed them too.

  The Eiffel Tower was not scheduled to reopen for another thirty years - the results of a crazed Nobel Peace Prize winner who had wanted to remind the world of its injustice. Or at least that was the official French Government version of events. The case files would be classified for another eighty years - in other words, the state’s secrets had greater longevity even than radioactive fallout.

  Currently, however, the Eiffel Tower’s radio activity was at a level to cause severe illness, including a number of cancers that were still considered incurable. Kaptu made sure his bodysuit was properly fitted before he ventured out from the sewers. He began to scale Paris’s most famous landmark, using the iron steps of the framework, the bright lights of the bustling city gradually emerging into view beyond the contaminated zone’s eerily dark wasteland. Kaptu started picking out the places he had only ever dreamed of visiting. The Louvre Museum, the Arc De Triomphe and the Notre Dame Cathedral were all clearly visible and Kaptu was thrilled by the thought of having two weeks to reside in their midst. Being born in Asylum City usually meant a life sentence in the world’s largest prison, but he had found a way out. He was free. At least for the moment.

  Passed the second level of the tower, he left the stairs, straddling the balustrade and climbing out across the framework. He swung the Cocoon 41 onto one of the outside struts and fastened it in place with synthetic-steel bindings, leaving it suspended more than a hundred metres above the ground. He recorded the spot to memory but did not linger. There was a reason he had put all his body monitoring alarms on mute and that this was a place untrodden in fifty years: the bomb had been particularly dirty.