Chaos Cipher (25 page)

‘
Hey!’ Kyo
shouted.

But before he
could react Hattle kicked the kid’s legs out from under him. Kyo
crashed to the floor, the backpack spilling bottles and jars,
electronics and gadgets everywhere. He bounded over Kyo as he
rolled to a painful stop, hopping between the debris of spilled
equipment. Hattle came to a stop. With his hands on his hips he
gasped for air, leaning back. He looked around the road. Nobody had
witnessed the assault. Most people were indoors, sagely out of the
rain. He pulled his hood up at that moment to conceal his face.
Hattle panted for air as he walked back over to the kid sprawling
in the dirt. Kyo groaned painfully and rolled onto his back to see
Hattle standing over him.

‘
What the
hell did you do that for?’ Kyo snapped angrily.

Hattle
squatted beside Kyo, pressed his knee over his chest and pinned him
down.

‘
You wanna
know my name?’ he wheezed. ‘Hmm? Little gene-freak
faggot!’

Hattle
brought his fist down hard and bust the kid’s face. Kyo cried out
as pain tore through his nose and lips like lightning, blood
spilling down to his chin.

‘
It’s
Hattle!’ He told him. ‘Remember who broke your face. Cross me again
gene-freak and I’ll break a whole lot more.’

-18-

T
he hexagonal web of encircling
spires pulsed apricot-blue at the apex of
Orandoré
’s
Atlantic Anchor Base. It was the crown of a huge industrial
looking s
tation set out at sea where upon
it towered the astro-elevator’s pinnacle reception harbour. The rig
platform was over four hundred metres from end to end, layered with
multiple operation stages for maintaining the orbital elevator. The
air whistled as it lashed around the tension ribbon leading up into
the sky, and as the elevator dropped below cloud level, the rollers
tightened their grip on the carbon nanotube-ribbon to control their
vertical descent. Anchor Base awaited their arrival as the
automated altitude breaks controlled their decline into the recess
pit awaiting at the highest platform.

The elevator
arrived on schedule at 6pm local time, fixing gently into the
photon reception and launch platform. The runners unlocked and
their pincer-like grip wedged open as robotic davits reached up and
detached the cabin from the reception and launch zone, dislodging
and hauling it down onto lower runners where the elevator cabins
were stacked for docking designations. Locking clamps secured the
cabin in their new platform grips and rolled it around a circular
track encompassing the crown of the structure, winding below the
reception launch zone in a conical manner, running vertically along
the length of the tower’s sides. It stopped finally into its
terminal docking cradle to be unmanned.

Malik’s
ossified face stared gravely out of the window as it gave way to
limpidity, revealing the auspicious seascape of black treacherous
oceans bulging and falling, webbed with streaks of saline foam and
turquoise sprays blasting from the tidal collisions. The charcoal
welkin stirred and crumbled beset a dark and tawny sunset, allowing
subtle transformations of golden rays to seep through the broken
froths, igniting silvery strings of amber rainfall as they lashed
over the ethereal mist on the ocean rig’s industrial
macabre.

A strange
quivering had taken hold of his arms. Malik could see them in
terrible and uncontrollable jitters as the sky’s light fell over
his marked skin where he’d penned X’s smudged and faded across the
skin. It had been so long since he’d felt the warmth of natural
sunlight. It was like being born again. His body was treating it
the same way he felt before his first meal on
Orandoré
, desperate to receive
nutrients yet quivering from the lack of it.

‘
We’re home!’
Serat gasped. ‘We’re really here.’

When the
elevator doors opened, a battalion of soldiers marched in pairs
into the room and dispersed; heavily armoured in shear-phasing vest
protection. In the vice like hold of their gloves, were light
plastic looking weapons that Malik may have once mistaken for toys
were he not already privy to the devastating effects of resonant
nerve harmonics. He had been forewarned by Duval and Felix that
Colonel Max Elba would use them if he became hysterical in
anyway.

Malik for the
most part ignored them anyway; he was grassing on his own thoughts,
too deep in contemplation to appreciate the reality he was now
involved. Max and his team stood and spoke with the soldiers; he
noticed an almost jovial relationship existed between them as he
was dragged to his feet like some common prisoner.

‘
Malik!’ A
voice said.

The tinnitus
ringing in his ears ebbed, and Malik regained some awareness again.
The journey had been tiring and his concentration was disturbed by
the welter of new sights bleeding into his eyes from the realm of
this new reality. ‘Malik, it’s alright, I’m here to help,’ said the
young man in a high-tech and elegant looking jumpsuit. ‘My name’s
Felipe.’

A soldier
forced Malik to stand and scanned him up and down with some device,
ticking-off another safety regulation from his list. While the
soldier ran through his routine checks, Malik gazed up at the
rather dapper looking young man who had addressed him. He was no
older than his mid-twenties, short, slim and very trimmed and
greased black hair. His eyes were a distinct green and he had a
barcode branded onto his forehead. Felipe also wore a white and
grey jumpsuit which had baggy pockets designed into the legs. He
was staring deep into Malik’s eyes to check for some strangeness in
colour or pupil dilation.

‘
My name’s
Filipe,’ he repeated, a mildly French accent, ‘you’re my ancestor.
We’re related, Doctor Serat. It’s a great honour to meet you,
monsieur.’

*

When the
party dispatched from the reception and launch station the foyer
was brimming with reporters and photographers and journalists from
The Randian News Corporation. Malik looked around at the walkways
amassed with people, metal railings with caution signs and steel
and piping all twisted together behind them like some multi-layered
spider-web. Saffron lights burned around the rig, and motion from
the operational red lights stencilled the silhouettes, of figures
shifting at the top of the rig, somewhere in the panoramic window
of the control station. Gliders swerved through the storm, their
ion thrusters flaring through the rain. Their central rotary blades
chain-punched above and pilots glared down from the safety of their
canopy. As the spotlights shifted over the rig’s platform, it lit
the heads and shoulders of the crowds gathering with their advanced
recording equipment, baying for the front. A surge of soldiers
marched in to intercept them and hold them at their designated
distance and they screamed unheard questions at the Erebus
Chrononaut through the blustering storm. Rain lashed across the
flat iron and asphalt platform beneath their feet, washing across
the surface beneath the beams of spotlights in sweeping
shimmers.

Giant
coloured balloons hovered high above the people, and internal
windows were populated with hundreds of thousands of ogling eyes
and faces, more crowds of individuals in boiler suit habiliments,
hurrying to the elevators leading down from the service reception
foyers. Malik glared, eyes once idle now wide with distress, as the
strange twelve foot tall androids, pale, faceless and rubber
skinned creatures, loped forth and helped to push back the
paparazzi as they screamed fanatical questions at Serat. The faces
of some of these monsters resembled large gas masks, with two small
black eyes and a large snout hanging down and connecting to the
torso like starved elephants rearing up on hind legs. What’s this
madness? He wondered. Is this really the home? Of all the monsters
and faces not one of them seemed human. He’d returned to a circus
of desperate and mindless beings all locked into some level of
consciousness he was excluded from.

Max led them
towards the debriefing complex across the rain swept platform, and
they held their heads and strode across the storm blown rig
surface.

‘
Just this
way, sir,’ Felipe shouted excitedly.

And they were
followed by swarms of drones and mechanical insects designed to
record for new channels until the military hampered their advance
with EMP waves that confused their programming and
signals.

A phosphorous
flare seared up high into the sky and burst into a chemical glow
that bleached their faces in a monochrome pale mint as the light
arched above and burned out into a fading hot ember. And the light
still burned in Malik’s eye since he’d craned back to see what was
there. Another flare shot and seared above and more troops
dispatched from within the oil-rig to control their excited guests.
The Nexus issued trans-data conditioning into the minds of
journalists and occupants on the rig to control their behaviour,
directing them to stay in position or clear the way for soldiers.
And although they continued to yammer and squall in the excitement
their legs seemed to coordinate a path as though their subconscious
was under direction. And a team of soldiers hurried towards them to
meet Max and his Canaries.

‘
Where are
you taking me?’ Malik asked.

‘
We’re taking
you to the debriefing and then we’re bringing you home, sir.’
Felipe explained loudly. ‘Your family home. My home. We’re going to
look after you and get you all the help you need after the
debriefing. You’ve made so much possible for our family that…’
Felipe almost lost his footing as a sudden wind unbalanced him and
rain swept beneath the blade of his shoes. ‘I’ll explain everything
on the way.’ He said regaining his composure.

*

Filipe waited
at the far end of the debriefing room, an old low ceiling facility
with barely working light panels blinking above them, and there was
the faint smell of coffee beans and stale wood. Facing him were
smartly dressed men and women in white uniforms sitting in cheap
plastic chairs, and Max and Tanya and Rufus were all on alert.
Malik could see their gloves pulsing with energy as they prepared
to stun him with their fancy martial arts moves like they did
Barnes on a number of occasions back on
Orandoré
. Despite this, Malik
largely ignored the threat and kept his gaze fixed firmly on the
hologram cube on the table a foot or so in front of him. The cube
was inactive, but its yellow light steadily pulsing on standby
mode.

‘
We apologise
for this Doctor Malik Serat,’ said the gentleman at the front,
taking a seat just before him. ‘I need to hear some things
first.’

Malik smirked
with dimples as the man continued.

‘
Where is
Captain Zemi right now?’

Malik looked
about the room and scrunched his face in a confused
wince.

‘
I believe
he’s dead.’ Said Malik, ‘on the Erebus.’

‘
And where is
Penelope Hurt?’

‘
The Erebus,’
Malik explained.

‘
Alive or
dead?’

Max was
confounded by the line of questioning. They’d found Penelope’s
carcass shattered in the cryonic sarcophagus. He let Tanya notice
his bewilderment and she shrugged and they continued to listen as
the man in the white uniform asked the question again.

‘
What do you
think?’ Malik crowed.

‘
Well I’m
more interested to hear what you think Doctor Serat.’

Malik Serat
sucked his teeth and sighed, turning his head to the door and
wanting to leave. He could tell this was going to be a long and
irritating process.

‘
Didn’t you
people learn anything about me from my interrogation back on
Orandoré
?’

‘
Some believe
you’re psychologically damaged,’ the man offered.

‘
Oh,’ Serat
smiled flatly.

‘
But don’t
worry. We’re not living in the dark ages now Doctor. We have
neurological treatments that can get you right on track again. We
can make you sane without all the mumbo-jumbo of mental hospitals
like the old days. None of that barbarism.’

Malik Serat
sighed, irritable and bored. ‘What’s your name?’ he said
suddenly.

The students
began moving their fingers and communicating without words. Malik
watched them miming and muttering, their facial expressions
changing, their eyes darting around, reacting to things within
their heads, things filtering in from their neuro-ligature bond
with the Nexus. He knew they were analysing his responses, he’d
said something that had intrigued them.

‘
My name is
Oscar,’ the man smiled.

‘
Well,
Oscar,’ Serat began, ‘I think you are psychologically
damaged.’

‘
Is that so?’
Oscar smiled neutrally. ‘Why do you suppose that?’

‘
You’re
interested in changing the natural rhythms of human behaviour to
suit your comfortable ideology. You have little power over your own
life so you assume the role of a psychological authority to bring
others into an order you yourself have been forced to endorse.
You’re a coward, a dullard, and you have no real interest in what I
am, merely how you can make me behave. I’m sorry to tell you Oscar
but I have no strings to pull.’