Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1) (19 page)

Still, Knile kept a low profile, moving quickly and keeping his head down.  He wasn’t about to begin relying upon the goodwill of others to keep himself safe.

On Level Fifty-T
hree he came to a relatively spacious market, a roughly circular array of outlets that served as one of the commercial hubs within Gaslight.  The place was packed with people, just as Knile remembered, bartering and arguing over prices, hauling goods about or indulging in some light chit-chat.  Knile spotted a couple of Enforcers on the other side of the market, but they were relatively subdued.  They were still the peacekeepers inside the Reach, the lawmen, but they couldn’t manhandle or coerce the inhabitants of Gaslight with impunity like they did in Link or in the slums.  The people inside the Reach had rights and the Enforcers knew it.  Behind closed doors, Knile had no doubt that men in black would still do unspeakable things, but out in the open they could not afford to be so brazen.

Knile kept out of the Enforcers’ way
and soon found the place he was looking for, a little shop poking out of the shadows in the corner of the market.  Ostensibly it was just another
bland
corner store where the people of Gaslight could buy meat and fresh produce, milk and eggs, alcohol of varying potency and basic pharmaceutical products as well.  A sign that read
Ollie’s
hung above the door, faded and peeling in the glow of the wan light outside, and below that Knile could see another sign – a softly glowing red symbol, a stylised version of the letter ‘C’.

It was an icon that belonged to the Consortium, denoting the location of one of their emissaries.

Knile glanced back at the Enforcers.  If they had their way, they’d have been camped outside Ollie’s on a permanent basis, keeping tabs on all those who entered and exited so that they could stick their nose into the business of the Consortium.  The Consortium, however, did not allow this.  They were an organisation based off-world that stood above the jurisdiction of the Enforcers, and they were not subject to any laws here in the Reach.  There were almost ten consulates of the Consortium spread across the Reach, and the Enforcers were not welcomed in any of them.

Knile stepped inside the store.  Three narrow aisles ran lengthways toward the back, and a glass refrigerated section shone its dismal light from the far wall, where a customer seemed to be examining the expiration date on a container of milk.  The clerk stood behind the counter waiting patiently.

“Morning to you,” he said politely.

“Morning.”

“Can I help you?”

Knile walked over to get a better look at the man.  He was not the same clerk who had worked here in the past, but Knile supposed that was not so surprising.  He had been gone a while and the population of the Reach was in constant flux.

“I’m here to see Jon Hanker.”

The man nodded as if this were all very routine and pressed a button for an intercom on his desk.

“Darkroom, we’ve got a customer here.  Please advise.”

He smiled reassuringly at Knile and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for a reply.  Knile
glanced up to see the wall-
mounted camera pointed right at him.  He suppressed the urge to wave.  The customer with the milk moved past, swiping a credchip for the clerk as payment, then grumbled a farewell on his way out the door.  Moments later the clerk pressed a finger to his tiny earpiece as he received a reply.

“Yes.  Good.”  He glanced up at Knile.  “Okay, you’re good to go.  All verified.”

He gestured to the far wall, where a door was beginning to slide open.

“Thank you,” Knile said, and he proceeded to enter the portal.

Behind the door, a short and narrow corridor covered in gleaming white linoleum led to two armed men dressed in red uniforms.  They stood motionless, offering no response to Knile’s arrival.  These were the Crimson Shield, colloquially known as Redmen, the personal escort of the consul.  Their suits were spotless, their faces clean-shaven and their hair neat, a sharp contrast to the often dishevelled Enforcers.  As he passed them, Knile noted their hardware with a degree of admiration
– pulse rifles, high-tensile ceramic armour plating, augmented reality
visors.  These guys were not to be messed with.  The technology and weaponry at their disposal dwarfed anything available to the Enforcers or any other faction in the Reach.

At the end of the corridor was a small but luxurious office, outfitted on one side with a sleek leather sofa, a coffee table and a silver water cooler.  Over by the other wall sat two neat black chairs and a broad grey laminate desk, behind which sat a middle-aged man in a black suit.

“Welcome back, Knile,” the man said with a smile.

“Mr. Hanker,” Knile said, moving across and shaking the man’s extended hand.

“Huh?  What’s this ‘Mr. Hanker’ business?” Hanker said playfully.  “What happened to ‘Hank’?”

Knile shrugged, taking a seat across from the other man.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me after all this time.”

Hank smiled again.  He had a neatly manicured grey beard which he stroked idly.

“I remember,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.  “You’re the guy who can move things around the Reach like no one else.  You really came in handy when official channels weren’t available.”  He dropped his hands.  “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m almost surprised you’re still around,” Knile said.  “I didn’t expect that.  I figured you’d have shipped off to greener pastures by now.”

Hank leaned back in his chair and tapped a postcard that was stuck on the wall over by his desk phone.  It depicted a pristine collection of white domes connected via a network of conduits and steel support structures under a black sky.

“Six months,” Hank said smugly.  “Six months, and I’m out.  My time is almost done.”

“Nice,” Knile said appreciatively.  “Where is that?  Ganymede?”

“Europa.  Damn fine piece of real estate.”

“Or you could stay here…?”

Hank laughed.  “Like heck!  I can’t wait to get out of this monstrous relic.”  He tapped his chin.  “Maybe you and I can meet up for a drink out there when all this is done.  I’m pretty sure I owe you one.”

“Sure.  I’ll take some water, if that’s on offer.”

Hank nodded amiably.  “Could’ve offered you
that any time you like, had you shown your face in the last few years.”

“You didn’t think I was dead?”  Knile got up and moved over to the water cooler.  After all that sweating in the air ducts he was incredibly parched.  “Everybody else seemed to think that.”

“The Enforcers thought you were, but we didn’t.”  Hank leaned forward.  “Once they find out you’re back, they’re going to be looking for you.”

“I thought the Consortium called the shots with those guys,” Knile said.  He began to fill up his flask.  The water from the cooler was so clear it seemed surreal.  Knile hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.  “Can’t you do me a favour and tell them to back off?”

“Doesn’t work that way, my friend, and you know it.  The Consortium has a strict policy – we don’t meddle in the Enforcers’ jurisdiction.  They police the Reach from the Atrium down, and we control everything above that.  That’s how it works.”

“The Consortium is a big, powerful organisation.  Why don’t you guys just take control of everything?”

Hank leaned back and sighed.  “I’m sure I’ve had this conversation with you before, Knile.”

Knile shrugged and the water cooler gave off a belching sound as air bubbles rose to the top.  “Maybe.”

Hank eyed him good-naturedly.  “Okay, I’ll humour you.  We don’t really care to become involved in the affairs of the Enforcers.  Herding the huddled masses around Link and the slums, or even through the Reach
,
is not the best use of our resources.  Our Crimson Shield are elite soldiers, not pig farmers.  In contrast, the Enforcers are unskilled oafs.  They’re dullards, thugs in uniforms with barely a brain cell between them.  They’re well suited to what they do.”  He shrugged.  “The Consortium leaves the herding of the pigs to the pig farmers.  There are no exceptions to this policy, no matter how nicely you squeal.  Does that make it clear?”

“So I take it that you’re not going to give me a personal escort up through the Atrium, then?”

Hank laughed.  “Nice try, old buddy.  The Consortium just runs a space elevator.  That’s it.  We’re a service for Sponsors to move people and items up the Wire.  We’re not anyone’s private minders.  Heck, we get clients from within Link, the slums…”  He gestured at Knile.  “From the lowlands, even.  Do you think we’re going to send Redmen traipsing out all over the planet to haul passengers back here?”  He shook his head.  “Sorry.  We don’t have the men for that.  If you have an issue with the Enforcers, that’s something you have to sort out yourself.  T
he only dialogue we have
with them is when they trespass in one of our consulates or try to go higher than the Atrium.  But they know not to do that.”

Knile raised his eyebrows.  “It’s not much of a service if your passenger can’t make it to
the
elevator because he’s been captured by Enforcers.  Do you give the Sponsor a refund if I don’t make it in time?”

“Your Sponsor signed a waiver when they paid us.  They all do.  The Consortium offers no guarantees of safety.  We just reserve a seat on the elevator.  It’s up to the passengers to do the rest.  If the Sponsor has doubts about the passenger’s ability to make it there in one piece, they shouldn’t be ponying up the creds in the first place.”  He tapped his fingers together.  “Why don’t you go see the people up in Administration, a few levels up?  They’re the ones who collect the taxes and run the Reach.  Maybe they can help you.”  Hank’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

Knile laughed to himself, giving up the game.  “They’d more likely put me in cuffs.”

“Why the concern, Knile?  If I remember right, you move around in this place like a ghost half the time anyway.  Why would you need an escort?”

“Maybe I’m just getting old.”

“I doubt that.”

Knile finished at the water cooler and returned to his chair.

“So who is it?” he said tensely.  “My Sponsor?”

Hank pursed his lips.  “Well, I can’t tell you that, Knile.  Heck, I don’t even know myself.  The Sponsor chose not to disclose that information,
as a matter of
discretion.  It’s not unheard of.  Quite common, in fact.”

“You can’t even give me a hint?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d say it’s someone who has a chequered past, much like yourself, who doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to.”

“Makes sense, but doesn’t get me any closer to their identity.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out, Knile,” Hank said, linking his fingers in front of him.  “How long can the list be?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many people do you know off-world?  Someone who would be willing to rescue Knile Oberend from this toxic prison?  Friends?  Relatives?”

“I can’t think of anyone,” Knile admitted.

“Well, there’s someone.”  Hank punched a code on a safe next to his desk, then reached in and plucked something out.  He held it up for Knile to see.  “Here’s the proof.”

Hank held in his hand an object with which Knile was only too familiar.  It was a dull golden colour, shaped in a rounded rectangle about the size of his index finger.  Hank swept his finger across a shallow indentation on one end of it, and a series of letters began to glow on its face.

It read:
Knile Oberend.

“A legit passkey with your name on it,” Hank said, holding it steady.  “Did you ever think you’d see the day?”

“Not really,” Knile said.  It was the truth.  In fact, it felt curiously odd just to look at the passkey.  He was certain that any second he would blink and those letters would disappear, replaced by the letters that made up the name of
the
real owner of the key.  But that did not happen.

Hank lowered the passkey and inserted it into a device on the desk, a sleek silver mechanism with an aperture perfectly suited to admit the golden key.  The device came to life and began to flicker with red LEDs.

“Encode, please,” Hank said.

Knile knew enough about the passkeys to understand what he had to do.  Extending his hand, he placed his thumb on the indentation on the passkey and waited as the procedure was carried out.  The device vibrated slightly and then ejected itself into the palm of his hand.

“Encoding complete,” Hank said, making a note of it on the terminal on his desk.  “Congratulations, Knile.  The passkey is now encoded to your DNA.  It’s yours to take.”

Knile drew the passkey back slowly, full of reverence, and stared down at it – his ticket out of this world.  He swiped his thumb across the indentation as Hank had done before him.

Knile Oberend.

He checked his watch.  Twenty-eight hours left before his ride began its ascent.

“Plenty of time if you’re taking the main elevators,” Hank said, noticing the gesture.  “Not much time if you’re not.”

“If you loan me those two Redmen at the door, I promise I’ll have them back in an hour,” Knile joked.