Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (14 page)

Dee jumped up and squeezed Morton’s arm. ‘We could sure use you in the Quad.’

Kacee’s head fell back, revealing her impeccable teeth. ‘Not a chance. Do know how much they cost?’

Francois did, SIS did not. That fact had helped subsidise the second factory, his factory.

Bo stood and rapped Morton on the skull. ‘No matter, we already have MCD. We do not need another computer.’

Morton turned to Bo, his features returned to normal. ‘I have ninety-seven percent biofidelity, and I am
much
more
than a computer. Would you like a demonstration?’

Steve interrupted. ‘What if the Resistance use them to infiltrate the Zones?’

Morton’s head swivelled unnaturally over his shoulder. ‘Integrated Network Command control our identities. We cannot take the identity of a living human or an active artificial human.’

Kacee directed her
charme
towards Steve. ‘Even if the Resistance got hold of one, they couldn’t use it. The biofield IDs are generated at INC, the Resistance would have to kill someone every time they cloned a new identity.’ Kacee pointed to the ceiling. ‘Otherwise EAGLE-EYE will spot duplicates. Anyhow, why bother. They aren’t exactly short of members.’

Steve folded his arms. ‘They’d bother because EAGLE-EYE wouldn’t pick up the cloned human if they were shielded every time the AH went active. It could be standing next to you and disappear.
That’s
why the Marionette directive banned them from having biofields.’

Morton countered. ‘The directive was too restrictive and the MD link no more than an overseer’s chain. Besides, SIS control security at the AH-74 labs. The Resistance cannot gain access.’

Dee thumped Morton’s arm. ‘Glad to hear that.’

Morton’s reciprocal punch made Dee grimace. ‘I am pleased you are glad.’

Steve stepped closer; his eyes fixed on Kacee. ‘You’re missing three-percent biofidelity obviously includes your social cognitive directives, Morton. I was looking at Kacee therefore I
wasn’t
talking to you.’

Kacee rested her hand on Steve’s arm. ‘You have no worries Commander, we’re all friends here.’

Francois’s gaze traversed the three expressions. Only Kacee’s was amicable.

An hour later, Francois stood under fragile sunlight and ruminated at the mud tarnishing the
Lightspeed’s
light-absorbing coating. Upon its return to
Castiglione
he would have someone clean it. He pulled the helmet over his head, glanced up, and increased the volume. Morton’s audio receptors could receive and transmit. Turning the handlebars, he aligned the mirror with the target.

Steve had been talking with Dee when Kacee’s long shadow fell over him. Francois had no interest in Dee’s rebellious sister. If she lived, she would do so without her brother.

A subdued Dee turned to walk away. ‘Your woman’s here.’ Kacee’s long camel coat curved with her body, tight fitting brown leather boots disappeared under the hem. Francois smiled. Her penchant for chic and her meagre salary made her vulnerable.

Steve turned to face her, his
génialité
benign. ‘Hi.’

She moved in, partially blocking Francois’s view. ‘Can we finish the EV on Friday?’

‘Sure.’

‘Afterwards we can go for lunch, I know a great Italian place.’

‘I guess that’ll depend on the EV.’

Her gloved hand moved to Steve’s arm. ‘You’ll be fine, I promise.’

When Kacee reached her car, Francois raised his hand. She covered her embarrassment with a coy smile; he had interrupted her thoughts. Tonight he intended to interrupt her plans as well.

16:37 TUE 24:10:2119

Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2

Back aboard
Cool Breeze
, Steve retrieved a notepad from under the table and began writing.

‘Have to go to town for a couple of days, see you on Saturday. XX.

P.S. Phone’s broken.’

He switched off the Private Network Phone and contemplated his lies in the woodstove’s ashes. He feared for Penny’s safety, and feared for what he’d become if she died.

Steve secured
Cool Breeze
, left the note with Terry, and set off for the garage.

* * * *
 

The Aegis’s headlamps diffused into the white-hot blaze of a staging area junction. The motorway’s disused service stations had become assembly points for Continuity’s exodus. When the time came, the towering gantry signs would direct the coaches to sterile buildings and transit points. Earth’s evacuation had been planned in meticulous detail. Unlike its consequences.

Steve’s eyes leapt up from the camera viewer to the mirror. The white glow receded; the four headlamps did not.

He tapped the centre console’s keypad. Digital readouts transformed, indigo blue heated to red. The retracting harness cut into his shoulders and the expanding seat bolsters squeezed his ribcage.

‘Active drive off.’

A female voice affirmed, ‘Active drive—’ The two-tone siren blasted across the empty lanes and neon blue danced around the cockpit.

Steve lifted his right foot and activated the transponder. The wailing siren died and the neon-blue strobe pulled alongside. He turned his head, but saw only his blue hued reflection. As he reached to lower the window, the black and silver patrol car screeched away, its rear lights consumed in a grimy cloud.

He drove for a further forty kilometres before leaving the motorway and heading towards a dome of hazy orange sitting on a mountainous berm of sterilised earth.

FH 2. Sector 2’s primary flight hub.

As the road curved, the defence towers came into view. Without the transponder he wouldn’t have made it this far.

At the roundabout, the Aegis’s headlamps glared upon the ‘Welcome to Flight Hub 2’ sign. Beneath the sign, a sleek cobalt-blue hull pointed to the stars. For most of Continuity the evacuation would be the first and only time they’d see a Pathfinder. The unmanned ships had left decades earlier and when the time came for Provenance to follow, it was hoped they’d found somewhere for Continuity to live.

Steve turned off the roundabout, cleared the checkpoint, and tunnelled through the berm to the drop-off point. The three-storey departure station stretched across the tarmac expanse, its lines of porthole windows shining out like torch beams. Eventually, he turned and passed under the gantry into lane zero and the underground car park.

A lift carried him up to the second floor and a deserted plastic-coated corridor led him to the ops room.

The door slid open to reveal a dusky interior. Three men crowding a tabletop viewscreen turned in his direction, as did Morton. Steve dropped his ruckall with the others. ‘Everyone okay?’

They all nodded.

‘Good. I shouldn’t have to, but I’m going to say it anyway.’ Steve concentrated on Bo, ‘No Defender bashing and no trashing Council property, okay?’

Bo looked up. ‘What?’

Dee snorted. ‘Cos you sweat paperwork that’s what.’

‘Okay. Next time you have problem, I think about paperwork first.’

Steve arched his back. ‘Let’s suit up.’

They made their way to Embarkation Hall 3, its rows of cream plastic seats glistening under bare strip lights. There was no glass, no view outside. There would be no looking back for Continuity.

Steve’s MPS bleeped. ‘ETA fifteen minutes, let’s go.’ He walked past an autopave leading up to the aerobridge and exited through a revolving door.

Concrete columns rose from pristine tarmac and burst into the night sky, showering them in sulphurous yellow. The apron, dotted with single-storey buildings and satellite dishes, ran alongside the departure station. Beyond that, the old runway disappeared into the distance, as did the two launch ramps. Emerald lights sparkled off two pairs of five kilometre long rails.

He led the team to the end of the departure station and then followed painted white lines to the helipad shelter. Three gargantuan hangers filled the view to the right. A bank of spotlights, tucked under the apex of each domed roof floodlit titanic white numbers, 01, 02, 03.

Steve set down his ruckall in the transparent shelter and faced the runway. A large transport plane taxied, its tail’s logo light illuminating the SCITECH Phi emblem. His parents had cut off all communication when they joined Provenance. He’d always wondered if they blamed him for Matt’s death. Now, thirteen years later, he had to assume they did.

The shelter amplified Dee’s voice. ‘Whoa, something’s happening.’

A launch ramp pulsed, rhythmic waves of emerald flowed into infinity. At the sound of a blaring horn, Steve turned around. Prefects flanked the taxiway to Hanger 03. A chink in the soaring doors widened to a chasm, dousing the concrete in aseptic white. A pointed black nose cone appeared, six metres above the ground.

Dee stepped forward. ‘Praetorian.’

The matt black ship emerged from the light. Steve, like most schoolboys at that time, had fallen asleep under the protective spell of a Praetorian poster. Later in life, he fulfilled his dream and learnt how to fly one.

They numbered thirty in total, tripled hulled and armed with an array of cannons covering a 360° arc of fire. Praetorians were a third larger than the old space shuttles. They were also squarer, more purposeful, less friendly. Pinpoints of light marked the tips of the stubby delta wings and the steeply racked tailfin. The Praetorian’s fuselage held six 140m
³
oblong segments. Each could carry fifty personnel, equipment, or a one hundred megaton space mine.

Praetorians and Citadel’s Advocates would be the first to land on the new world — and prepare it for colonisation.

A swirl of air descended over the shelter, grit tapped at the glass. Steve squinted up. A black rectangle with a point at one end and a circle at each corner purred. The Whisper’s Tri-colour navigation lights blinked against the night sky. ‘Ride’s here.’

Dee placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder. ‘We got time to watch the launch?’

Morton joined them. ‘I would like that, Commander. I have never seen a Praetorian launch before.’

Steve checked his MPS and walked over to Francois. ‘Another ten minutes won’t matter. Tell the pilot we’ll go after the launch.’

Francois headed towards the helipad. Shortly after, the Whisper’s rhythmic murmur faded along with the draught. Only the pungent smell of burnt lemons remained.

Morton’s head turned to Dee. ‘Have you flown in one?’

‘Yeah, we all have. Part of the training. Unless you’re Stevie of course, then you get to fly ‘em.’

Morton’s gaze found him. ‘You’re a pilot?’

Steve stared into wide eyes, reminding himself that beneath the polymer skin a complex matrix of micro-actuators worked to express surprise. ‘No. Just basic flight training.’

The Prefects peeled away, leaving the yellow crawler tug and Praetorian to continue to the launch ramp.

Dee chuckled. ‘Don’t be modest, Steve. He’s been trained to fly cos if someone leaves a present on board and he can’t disarm it, he gets to fly it outta harm’s way. All on his lonesome.’

Steve stabbed his finger against the shelter. ‘Approaching the ramp.’

Two hundred metres away, the Praetorian taxied right and inched its nose wheel between the rails. When its full length covered the rails it stopped. Coloured navigation lights replaced neon-white taxi lights and the pale glow emanating from the cockpit cooled to blue.

Dee slapped Morton’s shoulder. ‘Don’t blink.’

Emerald ramp lights flowed to yellow, yellow to red. The Praetorian’s underside flickered, lightening arced between the rails. A murmur swelled to a deafening roar. The shelter vibrated, boot soles tingled and the rails pulsed flame-red.

The one-hundred-tonne Praetorian edged forward, and then it was gone.

In the distance, a globe of cosmic-white exploded on the rails and sharp cracks thundered across the apron. At the ends of the rails, the crackling globe soared up into the black sky. The crackling waned, the globe shrank to a dot, and a minute later it disappeared.

Steve switched his attention to the upturned faces, ‘That’s it.’

Morton continued to stare skyward. ‘I can still see it.’

Bo clamped his brawny hands on the back of Morton’s shoulders before leaning in. ‘Nobody likes smart guy.’

Dee slung his ruckall over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, that’s how come Bo got in.’

Steve walked outside the shelter and whisked his finger at the pilot; dust swirled.

20:14 TUE 24:10:2119

Intra Zone, Wiltshire, England, Sector 2

Approaching the brow of the hill Penny’s magno-cycle geared down, its engine whine masking the groans of ebony branches swaying against a half-moon sky.

She was late; an emergency admission had delayed the start of her rounds. Thankfully the next visit was her last, Mrs Forester’s infected bed sores required the antibiotics concealed in her ruckall. She crested the windswept hill and squinted into the oncoming headlights. The lights dipped and the silver and black CONSEC patrol car slowed to a halt.

Penny took a deep breath and did likewise.

The front window retracted and a Defender rested a portable BRD on the cill. ‘Take off your helmet and authenticate.’

With a practised stride, Penny strolled across the gritty tarmac and pressed her thumb down. The BRD disappeared into the gloom and a moment later the rear window lowered to allow a dulcet male voice to escape.

‘Where are going, Penny?’

Her trainer’s voice rose above the thud of her beating heart,
breathe
,
breathe
. ‘I’ve left my phone at the hospital; I need it in case there’s an emergency.’ Resistance trainers had hammered home that imperative; for every operation, you must always have a reason for being where you are. Therefore, whenever she did her rounds, she left her phone at the hospital.

‘Come closer.’

Penny stepped towards the open rear window. Her throat constricted, within the shadowy interior pale moonlight reflected off a long black coat. She’d never forget the Prosecutor training session.

In a disused Scout hut that smelt of damp wood and waxed leather, the elderly instructor had stood behind a lectern and waited for them to enter. A semi-circle of stackable chairs fanned out in front of him, and on each lay
a penjector. Someone had joked that he’d be carrying more than a penjector if he ever met a Prosecutor.