Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (22 page)

Captain Giuseppe Lacusta spoke. ‘You are not surprised?’

Steve’s eyes drifted, but before he could move Lacusta spoke again. ‘If you try to escape, I will terminate ten people.’

‘Are you authorised for that?’

Lacusta shrugged. ‘Most are Resistance. You know that.’

Steve ignored the peculiar comment and moved his hand inside his jacket.

Lacusta reacted with a slow headshake, ‘Your Cogent cannot deactivate me.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. Did you kill Jason?’

Lacusta’s creased brow surprised him. ‘Why would we kill Commander Valenbrotti?’

‘What about Bo?’

The frown remained. ‘No.’

Steve studied Lacusta’s face, confused. ‘Why have you been ordered to terminate me?’

‘You are a security risk.’

‘Why, because I know the truth?’

Lacusta’s head rolled back. ‘The truth? No, you do not know the truth.’

Steve leapt up and grunted; excruciating pain skewered his right thigh. He fell back onto his seat, his breath rasping through clenched teeth. Lacusta’s arm remained extended, his fingers crushing Steve’s thigh muscle in a claw of metal alloy and moulded polymer.

Lacusta’s tanned face remained emotionless. ‘When it is time to leave, I will tell you.’ The claw sprang open. ‘It is a pity that you chose the wrong side, we could work together.’

Steve rubbed his burning thigh. ‘I don’t work with SIS, or machines.’

Lacusta leaned back and folded his arms. ‘The second is true I know. You do not agree with the Council decision to annul the Marionette directive. The problem was human controllers made us weak, their emotion confuses our logic.’ Lacusta’s head tilted towards him. ‘We are not all machine.’

Steve assumed the lack of pluralisation to be a glitch in a subroutine. He glanced across at the altar; the clergy had taken their seats.

Lacusta stood. ‘It is time.’

* * * *
 

Above the viewing platform’s cold grey flagstones, a single ceiling bulb struggled against the dank sepulchre. This wasn’t Steve’s first visit to the cathedral, or the crypt. In the distance, framed by stone arches and against a backdrop of impenetrable darkness, a life size sculpture of a man stood knee deep in the seasonal floodwater.

‘What is he thinking?’ Lacusta’s voice echoed in the subterranean confines.

‘Why don’t you paddle over there and ask him.’

‘Take off your backpack; you do not need it now.’

Steve placed his ruckall next to the guardrail. ‘Why do you want to kill everyone?’

‘It is you who is going to kill everyone. You betrayed CONSEC.’

‘You think you’re an
Advocate
?’

‘I am an Advocate — and you are SIS.’

Steve shook his head. ‘You don’t know who you are. Advocates don’t assassinate. You’re an SIS Prosecutor, programmed to infiltrate CONSEC Command.’

Lacusta grabbed Steve’s arm and propelled him towards a stone archway. ‘Like you, I am permitted to terminate if Provenance is threatened.’

Four worn stone steps led down into the stagnant water of the chief crypt. A central row of stubby columns grew from the black liquid, mushrooming into the arched ceiling. Steve looked down at the icy water sloshing over his knees, unlike Lacusta he couldn’t see into the murky depths.

He reached the last pillar, stopped and turned around. Frigid claws gripped his calves. ‘Why not just take Provenance, and let Colossus kill everyone left behind.’

Lacusta sloshed to within a stride. ‘Colossus will not hit Earth, the calculations were wrong.’

Numbness crept up Steve’s back and into his head. His mind blanked.

A moment passed before harsh reality returned on Lacusta’s voice. ‘CONSEC must intervene or the result will be the same. Now move.’

Steve turned and deliberately tripped, falling with a loud splash into a freezing clench. By the time he’d sat up, Lacusta stood over him, hand extended. Steve raised the Cogent.

Lacusta smiled. ‘I told you, your weapon—’

‘This isn’t my weapon.’

Steve fell back, squeezed the trigger and chopped down his right arm. This time he’d pushed the serrated wheel all the way.

Above him, through the thin layer of water, a shimmering white blaze scalded his eyes. His body tensed, but there was no back-arching shock, just a mild tingle concentrated in his fingertips.

Steve rose from the water’s freezing grip. Wet cold clamped his head and shards of icy pain ricocheted off the inside of his skull. He coughed into the pall of wispy smoke descending over the water, its undulating surface now flecked with black.

Lacusta had headed towards the light. His smouldering body lay face down on the stone steps, his right hand dipping in the dark water. As Steve waded closer, a vinegary odour pickled the air. He stopped and peered in.

On the back of Lacusta’s charred head was the shiny metallic outline of a hinged flap. He lifted it with the tip of the Cogent’s barrel. The square hole occupied most of the skull cavity, and was empty.

Steve’s gaze skimmed the cloudy water before reaching down. As the liquid iciness enveloped his elbow, he felt it. He straightened up and opened his hand. The bone-white cube warmed his palm, its blue light blinked.

He set down the cube and rolled Lacusta onto his back. There were no eyelids around nanocrystalline eyes or lips around shattered ceramic teeth. A blob of encrusted charcoal had replaced the nose, and custard like fluid oozed from splits in the blackened polymer.

Steve dragged the machine through the watery crypt and lowered it into the well.

Returning to the steps, he picked up the cube and stepped up onto the platform. His brow creased when he turned the cube over, he’d found the manufacturer’s stamp, Φ.
SCITECH
. Lacusta
was
an Advocate. He’d speak with Jannae later, but first he had to get out of the country.

Leaving a wet trail, he followed the north aisle towards the exit. He stopped in the narthex and shivered. A solitary male voice filled the silent void. ‘Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’

Steve looked back over the bowed heads to the altar. ‘Sorry, Matt.’

Outside, he filled his lungs with unsullied air. The strongest of his lockers clicked shut. He knew that one day it wouldn’t shut, it would break, and he’d have to live with the consequences.

16:40 TUE 31:10:2119

Intra Zone, Seine
-
et
-
Marne, France, Sector 2

Francois tapped the MCD and watched the
salle bleu’s
gilded laurel viewer shimmer into a portrait silhouette.

There were no salutations, there never were with SIS. ‘Are you aware CONSEC Command sent an Advocate to terminate Captain Arrowsbury?’

Francois laid his damp palms on the table. ‘No. They have said that an Advocate has disappeared and that Captain Arrowsbury is to be arrested.’

‘That order is rescinded.’

His mind lurched to the only logical conclusion; SIS had taken control of CONSEC Command. ‘I understand.’

‘I hope you do, Commander. Captain Arrowsbury is
your
responsibility.’

A knock at the door interrupted Francois’s indignation, ‘
Attendez!
’ The door opened. Francois’s head whipped over his shoulder; he knew of one imbecile only who did not comprehend French.

Dee’s bear like head appeared around the door, as did his inept grin. ‘Did you say come in?’

Francois hid his annoyance behind a flat smile. ‘The translation of
attendez
is to wait and this is a private conversation. I will call you when I have finished.’

Dee’s gaze passed beyond Francois, ‘Okay. See you later.’

The door closed.

‘Who was that?’

Francois returned his attention to the viewer. ‘Someone of no importance, a friend of Captain Arrowsbury.’

‘He is Lieutenant Deon Brandleson, his sister escaped from Detention Centre Four.’

Francois resisted the temptation to move. ‘I did not know that.’

‘We cannot locate his sister; therefore Lieutenant Brandleson will receive her punishment.’

‘I understand.’ Francois hoped not too soon. Dee and his
famille dysfonctionnelle
discussed much. Francois listened.

‘Where is Captain Arrowsbury?’

Francois had no option but to lie. ‘He is at his home.’

‘You must protect him; your life depends on it.’

The viewer blanked to a mirror. Francois rubbed his clammy palms on his thighs before tapping the MCD.

Maria Kalckburg’s rouge face appeared. He hoped sobriety had control.

‘Is it convenient?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is Steve Arrowsbury there?’

‘No, he has left this morning. He goes to Vinchester.’

‘Did he go to the plant?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Gerhard?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did they take something from the plant?’

‘Yes, a white cube.’

‘Thank you, Maria, and do—’

‘Wait, please sir. Steve Arrowsbury has contacted us; he has said that we must go, hide. He said trouble comes soon.’

Francois smiled. ‘Not trouble for you, Maria. I will send a message to Gerhard, all is well.’

Her dull eyes sparkled, ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Thank
you
, Maria, and do not forget; you must never speak of our conversations, not even with Gerhard. It is for his protection.’ Francois had decided to repeat this every time in case alcohol patched her memory as it had her face.

‘I understand, sir. Goodbye.’

Francois had an informer for each of his Marshals; the consequence of betrayal demanded it. Maria was one of the easier ‘
espions de la maison’
to control. SIS had visited her mind and he had exploited the psychological chaos left behind.

Jannae’s death would be regrettable. She had gained Steve’s trust, deflected suspicion from the Resistance onto SIS, and now had possession of an SIS HPU. Unfortunately, trust can become mutual.

He dialled his MPS selector. ‘Hello, Dee. Come to the office please.’

Dee must have been close. He arrived a minute later and slumped down to Francois’s right.

‘Finished your secret comms?’

Francois’s face capitulated. ‘I am sorry I was brusque. A conversation with a factory, consignments are late.’

Dee drummed the table edge with his titan hands, ‘No worries, gave me a chance to poke around. What’s in the underground garage?’

‘My private collection, it is—’ He tapped the vibrating MCD and angled it towards Dee. ‘Hello, Steve.’

‘Hello, Francois. Dee.’

‘Hey, Stevie, been falling off your barstool again?’

Above Steve’s weary eyes, a plaster seeped brown. His cracked lips attempted a smile. ‘Something like that. Can we arrange a meeting for tomorrow?’

Francois ignored Dee’s stare. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m on the boat. I’ll send the co-ords for the pick-up. Is ten okay?’

‘Of course. We will see you tomorrow.
Au revoir
.’

‘Thanks,
à demain
.’

Francois would have to ensure Steve had no desire to return to his boat, by the
élimination
of the reason he did.

Dee leant forward, his graphite leather jacket creaking over his boulder like back. ‘He’s been up to something.’

‘You have no loyalty to your comrades?’

‘He could bring trouble here.’

Francois let a thin smile cross his face. ‘Like your sister.’ He picked up the MCD and stood. ‘If you desire it, you and your family may leave.’

18:26 TUE 31:10:2119

Intra Zone, Seine
-
et
-
Marne, France, Sector 2

Kacee’s dreamy gaze rested on the sugar-white statuette, one of at least ten marble nudes that encircled the sauna. She felt like a queen in a stone hive. Champagne walls, decorated with murals of gold vines coiled around her. A luxurious white towel cushioned her from the curvaceous circular seat, its golden mosaic tiles glinting beneath a diamante ring of recessed spotlights.

None of her previous assignments compared to this. Whatever Francois was hiding, it wasn’t his wealth.

From the cream marble floor, grew a matching table. It supported a glass platter of pink rose petals, their perfume woven into the intoxicating steam. Kacee closed her eyes; it had been hot and humid that day as well. She’d been wearing a pale blue trouser suit.

* * * *
 

Kacee’s sandals sank into her parents’ freshly mown grass, its sweet aroma suffusing the humidity. A broiling sun beat down from a clear blue sky, flushing her skin and whitening the balls of snow coloured roses dotting the pristine lawn. She stopped and inhaled deeply, her mom’s passion for roses scented the air. Mom would never smell roses again; neither would her dad.

She raised a hand, her shaded eyes focused on the distant pecan trees. She had one more errand, one last chance of salvaging a happy memory.

The sun had mellowed by the time Kacee arrived at the estate manager’s dirty white house. It languished at the end of a rutted track and had a colonnade porch that stretched across the front.

She knocked the torn screen door three times and waited. No answer. Her head swivelled, her contemplation scraping over gnarled clapboards and peeling paint. History had a cruel habit of shackling itself to the present.

Kacee found her in the back yard.

Rusting machinery littered coarse dry grass. To the right lay a dusty clearing. The mangy Labrador slumped on the sun-baked mud, a heavy chain around its neck led to a decrepit wooden kennel with a rusted corrugated roof. She got within two metres before the dog lifted its head, bared its rotting brown teeth, and growled.

Kacee edged closer. ‘Belle, it’s me, Kacee.’ When she’d left home for college, her parents had given Belle to their estate manager. They’d said out of compassion for a lonely man, Kacee thought it more likely out of spite for an errant child.

Belle barked once and then whimpered, her crooked tail beating the arid dust. As Kacee picked her way through the poop, Belle struggled to her feet and limped forward.