Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (18 page)

As he approached the saloon, he stopped. ‘You’re not holding anything breakable are you?’

‘No, why?’

He turned into the galley.

Michelle’s mouth opened in a silent scream. ‘I knew something wasn’t right.’

He wanted to know what; he rarely received feedback on his one-time disguises. ‘Different coloured eyes? A lens flicked out.’

She shook her head and threw him a beaming smile. ‘Nah. Stubble. I was with you all night, and this morning your face was as smooth as butter.’

Steve rubbed his freshly shaven chin, he’d remember that.

10:19 SAT 28:10:2119

Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2

Dee made his way to the back of the canal boat and climbed the steps into the sunshine. He sniffed; mouldy earth replaced polished wood. Steve sat on the curved blue seat at the rear of the deck, his back resting against glinting chromed rails. Below his T-shirt’s left sleeve a fist sized welt glowed fiercely on his bicep. Francois’s not so subtle warning pricked Dee’s mind, ‘
Before the door has closed make sure you are in the right room.
’ Dee had made his decision; he couldn’t risk even being in the same building as Steve. ‘I’m sorry, man. I was wrong about you.’

Steve stood and arched his back. ‘Forget it, that’s the least of our problems. Let’s go in.’

Dee nodded. ‘How’s the hand?’

Steve held up his right palm. ‘Better now it’s separated from the sleeve.’

At the sight of the green GelPlas, a drop of corrosive guilt plopped into Dee’s stomach. Not for what he’d done, but for what he had to do.

They went inside and Dee eased back into one of the saloon’s leather settees while Steve recounted his version of events at RS 26, his meeting with Jannae and the new Prefect at DC 4. The more Dee heard, the more frustrated he became. None of it made sense. After twenty minutes, his boots were clumping backwards and forwards along the polished wood floor. ‘So, SIS got Jas, but missed you?’

‘Were you listening? Someone upstairs initiated an EM surge.
That
requires sigma authentication.’

Dee bit his bottom lip. ‘So the Resistance killed Jas with tech they got from SIS, but when they try to kill you, SIS stop them.’

‘I don’t understand it either, but you’ve heard the rumours, SIS are pushing the Council to war.’

Dee stopped pacing and swung around. ‘No, that’s the Resistance. Perhaps after CONSEC stuck that watch order on you they sent her to rattle your lockers — see what falls out.’

‘She wasn’t asking, she was telling.’

Dee flopped back into the opposite settee. ‘I ain’t as trusting as you.’
I can’t afford to be.

‘What about Bo? The Resistance couldn’t have reprogrammed the Prefect.’

‘Bo’s phase was on, his visor was down. I loved the guy, but he ran too close to the edge, you said it yourself.’

‘How did it find him? Only Command knew we were at RS 26 and Jannae says SIS are inside CONSEC.’

Dee flicked his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps she’s SIS?’ He knew Steve wasn’t gonna give up, he never did.

‘She can’t be. Three months ago, Jason received an op command to investigate a Gold Captain from MP 14. The report said he’d released a MECTECH suspected of passing information to the Resistance.’

Dee screwed up his face. ‘A Gold Captain?’ If Gold Agents were helping the Resistance, CONSEC really did have a problem.

‘I know, we didn’t believe it either. Anyway, it was a priority, so we took him straight to Central. When we got there, the Duty Officer asked if he could release the Captain’s wife. He had no idea why she’d been arrested, so we went back and spoke to the Captain. Initially he refused to say anything, but Jas persuaded him.’

Dee bobbed his head. Physical intervention was the one thing he and Jas
had
agreed on.

Steve continued. ‘Apparently she was insurance against him divulging the real reason he’d been arrested. He’d enquired about a SCITECH who SIS had accused of sedition. He and the SCITECH were friends, been at MP 14 for years. He said SIS arrested the SCITECH because he’d submitted a report to the Council.’

‘What about?’

Steve shrugged. ‘He didn’t know, but it cost the SCITECH his life. DC 15 said he was killed trying to escape. In other words . . .’

Dee’s reckoning focused on the table. SIS had paid a visit to the Detention Centre — and assassinated him.

‘The SCITECH’s Gold Captain friend was Gerhard Kalckburg. Jannae’s brother.’

Dee raised his head; he avoided looking at the clock, ‘So whadda ya do?’

‘I accessed the Judiciary through INC and ran a search on everyone involved. There were no files, nothing — except an SIS tracer worm. It broke through two crypto walls before I locked it out, and Jannae said it still tagged me. That’s why SIS came after Jason and me. They’ve got something to hide.’

Dee knew about cryptography, and what happened to anyone caught hacking into INC.

‘What happened to Kalckburg?’

‘We took him off net. Moved him and his wife to Dusseldorf.’

Dee jumped up. ‘You what? You’re crazy man. Nothing you’ve said proves anything.’

Anger flashed in Steve’s eyes. ‘Playing dumb isn’t going to save you, or your family. That new Prefect was stamped with a circle enclosed in a triangle, APD Industries. APD Industries own MP 14, the plant where Gerhard and the SCITECH worked.’

Dee wasn’t playing, or dumb. It was a matter of survival, and self-deception was the only defence he had left. ‘I’m sorry man. I appreciate you getting Michelle back, but I can’t risk getting involved. When SIS figure out she ain’t in the rubble, I wanna make sure the family’s well outta the way.’

‘Where will you take them?’ Steve’s friendly smile made Dee feel uncomfortable, but Steve didn’t have family, at least none that cared about him.

‘Francois’s house. He says he can shield ‘em from EAGLE-EYE.’

09:28 SUN 29:10:2119

Red Zone, London, England, Sector 2

Flanked by two Gold Agents, Steve watched the SOHQ reception screen yield to the po-faced Admiral Choo and gladiatorial Captain Lacusta.

‘Where were you yesterday, Commander?’ Choo’s laconic introduction left Steve in no doubt as to his fate.

The throbbing pain in his hand intensified. ‘On my boat, sir.’

‘Captain Lacusta called you and you did not answer.’

Steve pondered at the roman-nosed Lacusta with the slicked back hair and Mediterranean skin tone. ‘My MCD fell in the canal, sir; it took me a while to find it.’

‘Did your MPS fall in as well?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Tsk-tsk.’ Steve turned his head. Eye contact lasted for two seconds before the Agent’s gaze collapsed to the floor.

‘Commander!’

Steve’s vexation returned to the screen.

‘I do not think you understand how serious this is.’ Choo held up a silver MCD. ‘Captain Lacusta has completed his report. It says you did not notify the RS 26 Commandant about your mission. It also says one of your Advocates . . .’ Choo turned to Lacusta.

‘Sub-Lieutenant Bohdanke Krankavic, Admiral.’

‘Ah yes. Krankavic did not follow the correct procedure when a Prefect challenged. As Commander it is your responsibility.’

‘Yes, sir, but I don’t believe Advocate Krankavic ignored the procedure. I think the Prefect malfunctioned.’

‘From what I have read, Commander, it is
you
who malfunctioned. You take seven days leave and afterwards report to flight hub two as flight sentry. Any more problems and we will expel you. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir. May I ask a question?’

Choo raised an eyebrow.

Steve took that as a yes. ‘Has there been any progress regarding Commander Valenbrotti’s assassination, sir?’

‘That is not your concern.’ Choo glanced sideways. ‘Captain Lacusta.’

Compared to Choo, Lacusta’s demeanour appeared almost friendly. ‘You must give your ID and Cogent to the Agents. Your privileges are annulled and you are restricted to the Black Zone.’ He ended with an incongruous smile.

Choo shattered any illusion of affability, ‘You are still under CONSEC regulations, you will not speak about operations, and you will not contact other Advocates.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Take Captain Arrowsbury to the Black Zone.’

The Agent to Steve’s left puffed out his chest. ‘At once, sir.’

* * * *
 

Steve disembarked at Marble Arch and watched the black and silver patrol car screech away. It was time to visit Jason’s apartment.

11:28 SUN 29:10:2119

Black Zone, London, England, Sector 2

Pushing through the etched glass doors, Steve stepped into the foyer’s polished stone serenity.

Ahead, a full height mirror stood between two pairs of bronzed lift doors. While his tired eyes focused on the dishevelled reflection, a smile formed and a familiar voice echoed in the silence. ‘
Move over, make way for the heart breaker.
’ Jason liked mirrors.

Steve took the lift to the top floor and unlocked the door to apartment forty. Jason’s apartment, Steve’s second home.

An entertainment centre dominated the white walled lounge. Opposite the oversized leather settee, a viewscreen tall enough to step through covered half of one wall. It, like the advanced holographic technology it used, didn’t belong on Earth. Alex had become Jason’s friend for life with that under-the-counter acquisition.

Steve showered, changed his clothes, and his identity. The disassembled Cogent had returned to its gunmetal box. A scan would identify it as a Spectral Analyser KV17, an acceptable piece of equipment for Nicholas Harding. A Drone television installer.

He returned to the living room where a metal vase of wilted flowers had shed petals onto the glass dining table. He’d considered removing them, but decided against it. That debt had yet to be collected.

Leaving the building, Steve walked to the nearest transit stop and took a twenty-minute bus ride to Pancras Road.

He stepped off onto the wet pavement and looked up. Above the towering glass and metal framed box, an indigo sign glowed against the forbidding sky. RAIL HUB 1-2.

The second pair of metal security doors opened into the concourse. On either side, vendors’ stalls squeezed between concrete columns. An impressive variety of goods, all substandard, and a few probably life threatening. Not that anyone complained. Continuity Barons operated the stalls; they paid their dues to the Ministry officials, and the vendors only sold to Drones.

Steve bought a ticket, passed through security, and crossed the lounge to the inclined autopave. He emerged diminutive under the monumental arched roof of glass and metal symmetry. The antique clock hanging below the roof apex ticked to twenty-five minutes past five.

Beneath the dazzling pavilion, the high-speed night liner’s polished livery gleamed. A metre high horizontal orange stripe dissected the four hundred metre silver javelin. Steve boarded carriage six.

His cabin had the aesthetic appeal of a mortuary. Its harsh lighting, easy clean surfaces, and perfunctory nature resembled the early designs for Provenance’s crew quarters. Designs that PSYOPS predicted would result in the human crewmembers killing themselves, and each other, long before Provenance found a habitable planet.

A low whine accompanied the sense of movement. As the whish-whish accelerated Steve lay down, he’d be in Lanztenstein in five hours.

An hour later, he finally gave in to the insomnia and made his way to the bar-car.

Recessed floor lights diffused into electric blue and chromed steel. You couldn’t fail to notice the smiling attendant, his bright orange waistcoat clashed admirably. Steve sat down and ordered a single-malt whisky, which probably wasn’t either.

As expected, conversations were subdued. Drones couldn’t afford to drink to excess, monetarily or legally. Steve’s gaze skimmed over his companions, stuttered on a man and a woman and returned to the luminescent shelves. The alcohol in his stomach ignited.
Prosecutors.

The oversight had been simple. As her hand reached for the tall glass the jacket sleeve slipped back, a black ceramic MPS glinted.

With the attendant distracted, Steve finished his drink and headed for the exit.

Back in the glare of the cabin, he rubbed tired eyes and exhaled noisily.
Time to unpack the Spectral Analyser.

For the next hour and a half, he sat on the bed with his Cogent in his lap and when night liner R24A slowed to a graceful stop at precisely 19:20, he was already at the doors.

Steve weaved his way across the congested platform. Lanztenstein Rail Hub lay underground and an autopave glided him up to ground level and the plaza.

From under the massive glass semi-dome, he swung left, followed the paved slope up to the Lichtkuppel Platz and slipped beneath the shadow of a tree.

The man and women stopped outside the semi-dome, their suits covered by the long black coats of SIS Prosecutors. They huddled within the dome’s light arc, their faces tinted by the red glow of an MCD. His focus honed in on their shoes.

20:07 SUN 29:10:2119

Black Zone, Lanztenstein, Austria, Sector 2

Steve alighted from the tram at
Pragenschstraße
, crossed the road, and entered the one hundred hectare
Rosensteingarten
park. A line of lamp posts extended in front of him, daubing creamy circles onto a leaf-covered path before it disappeared into a wooded area.

He followed the path until he was within the shelter of the trees and stopped. Tapping the heel of his right trekker onto the toe of his left extended the studs of both into the fine gravel. Then he ran into the woods.

Dashing out of cover, he swerved to avoid a concrete picnic table, crossed a narrow road, and veered left onto the soft turf. The man would be following and the women would be covering the track-back. Her stilettos dictated that.

Steve swung right, skidded down a grassy slope, and crossed one more path before reaching the fence. Beneath the tree’s impenetrable canopy, he cut through the rusty chain-link, climbed through, and slithered down the sharp incline. At the bottom, he crouched behind a low wall running parallel with the tramline and waited in the shadows.