Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (29 page)

The MCD displayed the solar system, with one additional object, Colossus. A dotted line illustrated its projected course.

Alex pointed at the sun. ‘They miscalculated mass loss through perihelion; it’ll pass between Mars and Jupiter.’

Steve stared at the screen. A selfish part of him had hoped Lacusta had been lying. The part that didn’t want to explain to Penny that her mother, and countless others, had died because someone couldn’t add up. ‘I think Lacusta
was
CONSEC and they believe I’m SIS.’

Alex nodded at Steve’s MPS. ‘That’s why you need rotating identities. CONSEC
and
the Resistance are tracking you, that’s how they found you on Link 4.’ His eyes swooped to the table. The crumpled foil wrapper had expanded with a snick. Surely, he wasn’t that neurotic. He was. Alex scooped up the wrapper and strolled over to the recycling port.

Steve’s mental chronometer ticked. ‘How long do we have.’

‘I don’t have an exact date. I doubt they’ll release the Prefects unless the Resistance attack. It’ll probably take another two days to load Continuity.’

‘The Exemplars?’

‘No, the Exemplars are already aboard. They’re loading the Drones.’

‘Drones?’

Alex returned to his seat. ‘You still haven’t grasped what Jannae told you, have you?’

Steve cogitated into his empty cup, ‘Obviously not.’

‘Every human below a TYPE 7 belongs to an inferior species. Sevens are closer to artificials than humans. Some are even telepathic.’

Steve looked up, unsure of the significance of telepathy. ‘Are you a TYPE?’

Alex smiled. ‘No, I’m like you.’

Steve stood, walked to the picture window and pulled back the voile. Glittering white sand slipped beneath a turquoise sheet of undulating glass. To his left, palm trees followed the curving shoreline. He looked up into the clear blue sky and inhaled the salty air, manufactured air. His focus drew back to the glassy surface and the virtual-definition trickery. Billions of pixels played on his optical nerves. An illusion on a grand scale.

He turned around. ‘SIS have been very clever, haven’t they?’

Alex compressed his lips and nodded.

Steve returned and gripped the back of the settee. ‘When Provenance leaves, the Prefects kill whoever’s left, ditto if the Resistance attack Provenance. Either way, everyone on Earth dies.’

‘SIS believe an uprising is imminent.’

‘Why?’

Alex raised his eyebrows, ‘The Resistance infiltrated MP 14 and stole one of their HPUs.’ The pieces in Steve’s head stopped spinning and slotted together.
Francois.
Gerhard had unwittingly betrayed his sister, and she in turn had died protecting him.

He headed for the bedside cabinet. ‘I still don’t understand why SIS want to kill everyone?
Or why they want me alive.
We need to access bridge command and shut down the Prefects.’ He opened the gunmetal box. ‘What’s the Citadel count?’

Alex tapped his MCD screen. ‘Seven hundred and thirty.’

‘That’s enough. For the Resistance
and
SIS.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

‘Are you always this cheerful?’

Alex held up his MCD with both hands. ‘I told you. Things have changed.’

Steve’s fledgling optimism plummeted. The plan view of Provenance’s bridge deck displayed thirty or so blue dots indicating humans, or at least variants thereof. The fifty or so red dots indicated AHs.

The gunmetal box clicked shut. Steve had finished assembling the modified Cogent.

Alex’s chest expanded. ‘I thought that might come in handy.’

‘It did, it saved my life.’

Alex beamed.

Steve flexed his wrist; the new implant itched. 21:14, time to go. When he reached the door, he stopped and turned around. ‘How do I know you’re not SIS?’

‘Because if I was, I would have arrested you for hacking into INC and deleting Penny’s CPF — three times.’ Alex smiled. ‘That’s how I know you love her.’

Steve returned the smile. You have sigma authorisation and you know I hacked into INC. You are, most definitely, SIS.

21:18 FRI 03:11:2119

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

A log settled, releasing a swarm of glowing embers that whorled up into the chimney and reflected in the glass of
Frapin Cuvée
cradled in Francois’s hands. The wild boar had made an excellent dinner.

‘Kacee say when she’d be back?’

Speaking of wild bores.
Francois slanted his head, Dee’s orange-hued mass slouched in the adjacent salon chair. He too cradled a glass of cognac, although after experiencing Dee’s ability to consume alcohol with relative impunity, Francois had decided to leave the Hennessy
Beaute du Siecle
in the cellar.

‘No, but I am not surprised, she is PSYOPS.’

Dee’s head bobbed, ‘Yeah right.’

Francois returned his thoughts to the dancing flames. His plan had been meticulous, the
parfum de vanille
in the halogenated ether spray inspired. Nothing expands the chest like desire. Albert would keep her comfortable, at least until Francois and his cellar had travelled a few million miles away.

It was Kacee’s own fault; she had not administered the full dose. Francois’s artificial had been watching. He knew Steve’s profile; his girlfriend’s memory loss would have driven him to vengeance, to the Resistance. Now, Steve would direct his vengeful tenacity to finding the culprit, and Kacee’s romantic tendencies towards him made her a liability.

‘Monsieur?’

Francois glanced at the gold PNP lying on the proffered platter and swapped his glass for the phone. ‘
Oui
.’ His back straightened. ‘
Vous êtes sûr?
’

Dee reacted, his apparent sobriety surprising Francois. ‘What’s up?’

Francois raised an index finger. ‘
Au revoir.
’

He replaced the phone and turned back to Dee. ‘It is not important. Please stay and finish your brandy, I will see you tomorrow.’

It was important, urgent in fact.

Francois had noted the anxiety in his PSYOPS agent’s voice. Kacee’s order to return to Provenance was not unusual, but the transport was. The Council and Judiciary Command used Defence Vessel 1, and Kacee was not a member of the Council. He would have to pacify her, unfortunately that meant losing a member of his staff.

Francois did not need more complications. He was already investigating the patrol car that had attacked Steve and if, as he suspected, the remote signal was traced back to the
psychopathique
General Perignon, Francois would extinguish his English General’s
fureur
permanently.

* * * *
 

The All Terrain found another pothole, jerking Francois out of his seat and bouncing its glacial beams over the tree-lined track. Albert’s cottage hid in the depths of the forest, five kilometres from the chateau.

Francois swung through the gateway, the headlights sweeping the pale stone facade and reflecting off small windowpanes. He slowed to a stop and the beams vanished.

The cottage appeared unlit, only a soft fiery glow emanated from within. He reached behind and extracted a silenced rifle from the rack. Morton shifted in his seat.

Francois raised his palm. ‘Wait here, if I need you I will call.’

His crunching footsteps filled the clearing and above, silhouetted against the moonless night, tall black trees spread their claw like branches over the cottage’s steep roof.

The rustic oak door scraped across granite slabs. Ahead, beyond the unlit
cuisine-séjour
, an open fire cast its glow around the
salon’s
bare stone walls and terracotta floor. Albert slumped in one of two large armchairs that faced the fire.

Francois crept through shadowy kitchen, rifle at the ready. To his left, under an open staircase, sat a table cluttered with the remnants of a meal, for two. He edged forward to the lounge armchair and looked down. Albert’s eyes and mouth were open, his chest heaved.

He left Albert and climbed the creaking stairs, his cheek resting against the rifle butt. On the landing, he turned left.
Trop sombre.
He slipped his hand through the gap in the doorway and felt for the light switch.

Francois kicked out, the door crashed against a table and the pine clad bedroom burst into view. He lowered his rifle, and shook his head. The blue duvet lay crumpled on the bed, the restraints on the floor. Albert had succumbed to Kacee’s
charmes
.

He returned to Albert and perched on the armrest. Albert’s wide eyes stared into dying embers while his spasmodic lungs snatched at the air. He did not speak; he could not speak. Albert had been born mute. That was why Francois had chosen him.

His examination followed the saliva that dribbled down Albert’s handsome chin to the dark stain that blotched his broken neck. Francois was well aware of Kacee’s
améliorations
. Of all the cameras in her bedroom, the one behind her mirror had revealed the most.

The prognosis for his gamekeeper would be a life
intolérable
; there was only one remedy. He reached out, grabbed Albert’s shoulder, and pulled. Albert flopped right, his head left. The stub of his cervical vertebrae dug into Francois’s thigh.

The spasmodic breathing stopped. Francois wrapped his arm around Albert’s lifeless body. ‘
Au revoir mon camarade.
’

21:58 FRI 03:11:2119

Citadel, Provenance, LEO

Steve held the orange revival suit while Alex tapped the environment panel’s keypad. Parallel lines of overhead lights flickered on in sequence, drenching the two hectares of Citadel in ice-white.

Ahead, charcoal equipment pods followed the centre line of the spacious concourse. Each EQP resembled a small garage and each contained the uniforms and equipment for fifty personnel. On both side of the concourse the banks of blue cryotube racks stretched away into the distance.

Steve headed right — Advocates slept in racks one to twenty.

He stopped next to the red flashing light and tapped an icon on the management console. The first stack reacted, filling the translucent tubes with soft light. With a whirr, the fourth tube extended into the aisle and descended, locking with a clunk.

Alex crouched down and tapped a sequence into the tube’s management unit. It would take ten minutes to raise Commander Richard’s core temperature. Then they’d return to the MEDLAB and purge his blood of cryoprotectants.

Alex stepped back. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Good. I’ll brief him in MEDLAB. Are you sure you the cameras are offline?’

Alex met his gaze. ‘As sure as I can be.’ He directed his chin towards the armoury’s roller shutters at the end of the aisle. ‘Of course, when you try to open that . . .’

‘That’s not a problem, we can cut through those.’ Steve nodded at the deck-car. ‘That’s the problem. If they shut down the deck-cars we’ll have to use the emergency stairs. We could get pinned down.’

‘You won’t escape.’

‘Why not?’

‘If SIS
or
the Resistance control the bridge they can seal the bulkheads and activate the fire suppressor. You’ll all suffocate.’

Steve rubbed his chin. ‘We’ll need to disable the sensors. How many MEDTECHs are available?’

‘About thirty.’ Alex’s eyebrows arched. ‘If you fail they will all die.’

‘I’m well aware of that.’

The cryotube monitor beeped. Steve peered in; Commander Richards blinked back. A powerful chest rose and fell under the olive vest.

Steve’s head snapped right. The unmistakable patter grew louder. The Scorpion approached from the armoury end of the rack, its black body glinting in and out of the lights.

Alex raised his left wrist. ‘Commander Shundo, deck one-eight-five, depot one. Shut down the Sanitiser.’

‘What are you doing in a restricted area, Commander?’

Alex’s voice pitched up. ‘Never mind that, just shut it down! Hello — hello?’

The Scorpion’s whirring patter filled the aisle.

‘Wait there, Commander.’

Steve sighed.
SIS have control of Citadel
.

He stepped sideways; his left hand pushed Alex, his right hand swept out from inside his jacket.

The aisle exploded in piercing brilliance. Electric-blue tendrils wreathed the Scorpion’s blistering shell and arced between its sparking claws.

The patter stopped.

Alex leant against the rack and stared open-mouthed at the smouldering wreck. Steve holstered, grabbed Alex’s wrist and reset his MPS selector. ‘Time for plan B. Put Richards back under.
Now.
’

With surprising dexterity, Alex tapped in the sequence. Steve pressed a button on the MU. ‘Sorry, Commander, no time to explain. We need to put you back under.’

Richards raised a hand and nodded.

When the cryotube began to rise, Steve ushered Alex towards the deck-car. He shouted over the alarm’s shrill wail. ‘I’m assuming Alex Shundo isn’t your real name!’

‘No, Peter Wilkinson, it is not!’

* * * *
 

Back at Alex’s cabin, Steve slumped in the settee. He didn’t have a plan B.

Alex returned from another excursion to the vending machine. Steve caught his eye. ‘Doesn’t that machine have anything other than energy bars?’

‘If you’d like to use your own credits, please, go ahead.’

‘Energy bars are fine.’ Steve took a sip and looked past Alex’s head. The Eiffel Tower silhouetted against a blood orange sunset. ‘I need to make a call.’ Whatever plan B was, it would have to involve Francois — and his army.

23:28 FRI 03:11:2119

Black Zone, London, England, Sector 2

Kacee sat on the edge of her bed. A CONSEC emergency extraction had brought her to the apartment twenty minutes earlier. She’d decided against going back to the chateau. The silent Albert might have supplied the ether, but the vanilla scent required a more intimate knowledge. Was Francois Resistance? SIS? Both?

As she examined her hand, the bedroom’s soft light caught the bruise at the base of her little finger. Albert had had a strong neck, but no human bones could survive an impact with hers.