He heard
another capsule shatter above the patter of rain and sheltered his
eyes from flying shards. It could
have
come from
anywhere within a 120-degree arc.
Damn.
It was beginning to look as
though he’d have to dash for safety, a dangerous prospect
considering he had no idea where to lay covering-fire.
One of the
good things about late twentieth century architecture, at least in
Dan’s current frame of mind, was their insistence upon
skimp
ing
wherever
they could. Few things were made to last unless someone stood to
profit from ensuring it would. And nobody was keen on spending
unnecessary money on public property – such as a toilet-block. The
wall separating the women’s toilet from the men’s was barely above
head-hight. There was ample room to vault it and Dan wasted no time
tucking his pistol into its holster and clambering to stand on the
nearest toilet.
A puff of dust mushroomed
into the air with each hand he planted on the bricks and a few
moments later he was in the men’s toilet – quite literally, having
stepped in the men’s urinal.
The rear of
the toilet-block butted against a CityRail fence. Someone had
painted a crude skull on its rusted links and it served as a stark
warning to anyone foolish enough to trespass on the tracks. The
rails were at the bottom of a 20-metre drop with sheer walls. A
poorly concealed trail to Dan’s right slipped under a section of
the fence where someone had yanked the wire from the ground. Dan
supposed a local brigade of teenager
s
, who no doubt thought the skull was
hilarious, did their secret binge-drinking somewhere in the
artificial canyon.
Dan wetted his lips and
the creases on his brow deepened to a frown. There was only one
thing he hated more than losing control of a hunt:
betrayal.
“
Never again.”
The words slipped out before he could keep them in check. He
abandoned the cover of the toilet-block and dashed into the rain,
wondering if he’d feel the sting of poison exploding in his flesh.
A
n
acidic droplet
rolled
in
to his
left eye, which watered
uncontrollably
. Upon reaching the
fence he sank to his buttocks and slid forward, forcing his body
through the tight squeeze. Thick reeds concealed the entrance from
all but one oblique angle and they scratched his cheeks, ears and
hands. Then his coat caught on a protruding wire. He angrily
wrenched
to his right
and
heard it rip. With another furious
twist, his coat tore enough to allow gravity to finish the job and
he slid off the ledge. Only when it was too late did he give any
consideration to how he would slow his descent. The teenagers who’d
created the hole had also provided a rope, but Dan didn’t see it in
time and had no clue where he should reach. His back grated across
the jagged rocks and a searing pain spread to his skull when an
outcropping struck his coccyx.
He twisted and
groped for the reeds that lined the embankment but the leathery
plants just sliced his hands and snapped at the base. With a final
desperate attempt, he dug his fingers into the rushing
wall
and s
plinters
of dirt dug deeply under his nails, but his descent continued. He
landed heavily, one of the tracks smacking him across his upper
shoulders and knocking the wind from his lungs. If he’d landed a
little closer he’d have broken his neck, closer still and his
brains would be leaking out of his ears.
He lay there stunned,
unwilling and unable to move. But then the track started to
vibrate. He rolled onto his front, scraping his knees on the
foundation of basalt rocks, and staggered to his feet. After
briefly arching his back to alleviate the pain he backed into the
scrub at the base of the slope.
A stiff breeze buffeted
him a second before the train screeched past and he used a forearm
to protect his face from the swirling water that gusted along with
it. Dan counted the carriages by the whooshing sounds. Then, just
as suddenly as it had appeared, the train was gone, seeming to take
with it all the viable oxygen. The vacuum that remained sucked Dan
forward and he stumbled onto his knees.
Meadowbank station was
only two-hundred meters away and he limped toward it.
The adrenaline was gone,
consumed by the pain, but the flame of hatred remained. In a way
he’d always had it, he’d just chosen to forget. But now that
circumstances had forced him to remember, Dan didn’t intend to let
it escape.
*
The Raven approached on
light feet.
He was obsessed by the
goal and would never rest. Not until the task was complete. Such
was the omen he’d received.
Messages
arrived in his mind, two of them. But neither assigned with high
enough priority to distract him from the goal. He entered the
toilet-block cautiously, sweeping the stalls for Sutherland before
focussing on his prize. Sutherland was gone.
Good.
A shiver ran the length of his
spine when his ethereal senses told him Dan had just used a portal
in Meadowbank station. He relaxed, holstering his
Redback.
He took no pleasure from
his work; it was merely something he had to do. Slowly he drew the
implement from his belt and twisted it to the muted light, watching
as his reflection danced along the shiny metal surface.
The Raven
dragged Adam by his feet to the middle of the floor and slashed the
clothes that covered his back. He paused for a moment, carefully
selecting the correct position, and then plunged his instrument
into the corpse. The horrific sound of grinding bone echoed from
the walls
as
he
removed the correct vertebrae, the one that contained the
microchip. And that was his prize, the only part he needed to
return. The stains on the floor and the state of the toxin-infected
corpse never bothered him; they were anecdotal. This was his job.
This was why UniForce paid him well.
A wicked smile gleamed in
his eyes. On second thoughts, he did take pleasure from his
work.
*
Tuesday, September 14,
2066
22:15 Coffs Harbour,
Australia
Jen sipped her lemon
water.
“
It just
doesn’t work like that.”
She took another swallow,
gulping the last of the bitter fluid before her temper made her say
something she’d regret.
“
And it’s
about time you realise it,” he said. “I just want what’s best for
you.”
She believed that. How
could she not? Her father had always wanted the best for her. Yet
somehow, he always managed to misdirect his efforts. “If that were
true you’d let me discover what I need to do on my own,” she said
sharply, cringing at her unintended tone. Her tongue was often her
curse – she tended to say what everyone else in a room was thinking
but had the tact not to mention. She’d never been good at tact; it
was a mystery to her.
“
I just don’t
want to see you struggle the way I had to.” His untrimmed eyebrows
had turned grey five years ago and were now
talcum-white.
“
I won’t,” Jen
retorted.
“
Then find
yourself a job.” John Cameron pleaded. “Start now, before it’s too
late.” He paused, not wanting to press too hard. He knew he had to
manage Jennifer carefully. “I can make some calls if you’d
like?”
“
No!” She
slammed her glass to the table and made the cutlery jump. “I know
you mean well but I will
never
go to one of your interviews.
Don’t you see?” It was her turn to plead. “I
’
d rather live in the gutter. I’m
different, I just can’t do it, and I won’t. It’d kill
me.”
He sighed, taking the
napkin from his lap and setting it aside. “Then how?”
She cast her eyes to the
tablecloth. “The same as grandpa.”
John Cameron’s
skin flushed at the mention of his father. This was precisely what
he’d been trying to avoid through years of careful planning and
parenting. His worst nightmare was sitting across the table.
No, please.
He couldn’t
bear the thought of another activist in the family. His father’s
activism had scarred his childhood and he didn’t want that kind of
life for his daughter. He knew the world had problems, but he also
knew there were limits to what one person could achieve. It came
down to quality of life.
Why can’t she see
that?
He studied her carefully.
Stubborn child.
He still
thought of her that way – like a child.
Jen stood and
skirted the table to kneel in front of him. She took one of his
aging hands in both of hers
,
squeezed
it
, and said, “I have to do what I
think is right.”
He nodded. “I know.” She
thought she could see a thickening to the sheen over his blue eyes.
“That’s what I’m afraid of. The world has changed since your
grandfather’s day. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“
I won’t.” But
her smile looked strained. “I promise.”
He grunted. “That’s not
something you can promise. Just be careful, deal?”
She smiled
more strongly. “Deal,” she said, squeezing his hand a second time.
“I have to go now.” And she fled to the bathroom before he could
protest. There she stood, mesmerised by her reflection in the
mirror. She was glad that she’d inherited her father’s eyes, and
very glad she’d inherited her mother’s nose.
Jen’s
rich chocolate hair swayed around
her shoulders. There was something almost regal about the way she
held herself, a confidence that came from the realisation she was
doing the right thing. Other than that there was nothing remarkable
about her, she was dressed like a typical university
student
–
jeans,
brown hiking boots and an oversized collared shirt. When she
finally shattered the trance
and
opened the door,
h
er father was waiting for her beside
his portal in the foyer.
Jen dug into
her pocket for the microchip selector. The name on the tag read
Elisa Turner but she’d been using that alias for too long and she
pressed the next-identity button. Two other names flashed on the
display before resting on Susan Beaton.
That’ll do.
She made a mental note to
change them all, she hadn’t used a new
identity
for months
and that was a mistake.
“
Bye Dad.” She
accepted the mandatory farewell hug and pecked him on the
cheek.
“
Take care.”
He watched as she stood on the platform, smiling at him as she
flashed away.
*
Tuesday, September 14,
2066
19:37 Carnarvon, Western
Australia
Deep down,
Jen
knew her father was wrong. He was
trying to protect her the only way he knew, and she loved him for
it. But they were approaching life from irreconcilable angles and
there was no common ground between them.
Grandpa understood.
It made her
feverish with guilt, but she felt closer to her deceased
grandfather than to her father. Thinking about the infamous Mike
Cameron left her with the dreadful feeling of emptiness – she
missed him too much.
Still, her
father had a point and Jen
hated
the part of
the
world
that lent it
credibility.
T
hat
was precisely why she would continue to fight, all the way to her
own destruction if she needed to.
She
shrugged the morbid thoughts aside. O
ut
here, at her favourite place, she was free. Or as close to free as
she could be.
There was a
three-hour time difference between Coffs Harbour and Carnarvon so
the sun wouldn’t set for another half
-
hour.
Just
enough time.
She really needed it tonight,
more than most nights. That was often the way things went after a
visit to her father.
Reality
was depressing.
She filled her lungs with
sea air and strolled down the ocean road. The warmth of the sun’s
rays beaming on her icy flesh reassured her that everything truly
would be okay. It was only a short walk; the Carnarvon city council
had spared no expense, building portal stations every few
kilometres.
She rounded the bend and
gazed out to sea, catching the slight tang of salt in the air.
Carnarvon was by far the quietest seaside town Jen had found in her
quest for the perfect place. The sheer tranquillity proved the
deciding factor, bumping it to the very top of her list. More than
anything else, she longed to settle on a small plot of land
overlooking the ocean, build a modest house, and sail a charter
catamaran.
There it
is.
The sign was still there, just as she’d
hoped. The local branch of Realty King had planted a monstrous
plastic billboard at the front of the empty block. As much as she
detested the sign, it meant that nobody had yet purchased the lot.
The land hugged the coastline and gently sloped toward the ocean.
It was squatting on a craggy hill half-a-kilometre from the
water,
but for Jen it
represented Eden.