Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (3 page)

Smithson smiled. ‘Enjoy the rest of your weekend — and don’t make life difficult for your Guardian. Remember, your deadliest enemy is the one you haven’t met.’

The Admirals faded out, leaving only the pokerfaced Jannae Kalckburg. ‘You should listen to the Admiral Commander. A Guardian is assigned to protect Advocate Commanders for the sake of the thousands of Continuity who they protect.’

Jason decided not to reply. CONSEC recorded everything in SOHQ, so they could play it back at your court-martial.

Jannae’s face softened. ‘Be careful Jason — and thank you.’

With her enigmatic smile still visible, Jason whipped his ID card from the slot. The screen blanked. He’d talk to Steve about Jannae. Three months ago, he and Steve had rescued a Captain Gerhard Kalckburg from an SIS frame-up and took him off net. Now someone with a striking family resemblance turns up.

Coincidences rarely are.

10:33 SAT 21:10:2119

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

Kacee’s harness gave her a reassuring tug as Francois banked the jet-hover. The pastel blue sky gave way to autumnal meadow and bronze woodland. She raised her MCD and took another photograph. Only the bulbous transparent canopy separated her from the gleaming fairytale palace, three hundred metres below.

Château Castiglione
near
Chamery-la-Montagne
was Francois’s ancestral home and the largest house Kacee had ever seen. An enormous hollow square, with a round tower at each corner, sat on a cream base cut into lush green baize. Steep Prussian-blue roofs crowned soaring ivory walls peppered with rows of tall windows. Her red-lipped smile reflected in the canopy.
It would make a beautiful wedding venue
. She looked back over her shoulder.

‘Fantastic ain’t it?’ Morton appeared unimpressed, his stubbled polymer skin paler than normal under the glare of the morning sun. She shook her head and returned to the view below. To an Artificial Human, the concept of beauty was as abstract as beauty itself.

Francois’s voice rose above the engine whine. ‘It is magnificent, yes?’

Kacee spoke to the canopy. ‘Sure is. Who are all those people?’

‘Ah.
Henri
arranges the welcome.’

Kacee shifted around to face him. ‘They all work here?’

A perfect white smile beamed from Francois’s bronzed face. ‘Of course,
Castiglione
is a large house.’

As he guided the jet-hover down, Kacee wondered if this weekend would prove more enjoyable than she’d first thought.

They landed on a paved square in front of the chateau, the only part of the seemingly endless driveway that wasn’t tree-lined. Francois climbed out, strolled around to her door and opened it with a smile.

‘
Bienvenue chez moi Madame
.’

Together, they climbed the curved stone steps. At the top, Kacee squinted into the terrace’s sun-baked expanse. Below the chateau’s immense cream walls, she could almost see the Lipizzaner stallions, gilded carriages and glimmering silk dresses flowing out from under V-shaped bodices.

‘Do you like it?’

She returned Francois’s smile. ‘It’s like something out of a fairy tale.’

His cool hand found hers. ‘Let us meet
Henri
and the others, they have much to do.’

Fine gravel crunched beneath her shoes as Francois led her to a line of people stretching out from the entrance steps. An officious man with combed-back silver hair and a black suit stepped forward.

‘
Bonjour Monsieur, Comment allez-vous
?
’

‘
Très bien Henri
.’ Francois extended his arm. ‘
Je vous présente mon ami, Madame Merblayn
.
’

An almost smile accompanied Henri’s nod. ‘
Madame.
’ At the command of Henri’s double finger snap, a young woman wearing a healthy outdoor tan and a short charcoal dress left the line and hurried towards them.

Kacee turned to Francois. ‘That’s very kind, but I can manage.’ She was on a mission and she didn’t need the added complication of a maid.

Francois disagreed. ‘
Non
, you are my guest, I want your weekend to be perfect.’

Kacee smiled down into the woman’s docile eyes peeking out from under the brunette fringe of a severe bob haircut. She knew exactly whose weekend Francois wanted to be perfect. His.

When she and Francois reached the steps of the monumental porch, he spun around and raised his palm at Morton. ‘
Henri
will show you to your accommodation Lieutenant Hipparcho.’

Francois turned to Henri, ‘
L'Orangerie, appartement deux
.’

Kacee studied Morton’s indifference. Artificials didn’t understand social hierarchy, or care.

Francois took her arm. ‘You are safe here. You do not need a bodyguard.’

She smiled into dark gemstone eyes. ‘Sure.’ Maybe not a bodyguard, but definitely a chaperone.

They walked through the temple like columned entrance into the cool expanse of the foyer. It was too much for Kacee’s wide eyes to absorb in a single view. Ahead, a wall-size tapestry of a medieval hunting scene hung over a cavernous white marble fireplace. The mountain of marble frosting continued up, flanked on both sides by graceful stone staircases; their cream steps curving up onto a central landing. Arching back her head, Kacee’s wonderment came to rest on a giant pear-shaped chandelier suspended within the domed ceiling’s gold-edged blue squares.

Her awe-struck eyes descended the cream steps of the left staircase, following the life size portraits lining the curved walls and the elaborate gold fretwork supporting the shiny black banister rail. The larger bottom step spread out onto glossy black-and-white diamond tiles like softened candle wax.

On both sides of the foyer, columns interspersed butter coloured walls that formed arched corridors leading away to pairs of fortress like cream and gold doors. Life size statues lined the corridors, each lit by a tall window opposite.

At the sound of Francois’s voice, Kacee closed her drooping mouth.

‘It is the home of my ancestors. A gift from the people.’

‘Very generous. What did your ancestors do?’

‘They protected our country from its enemies. Ah, here is Colette; she will take you to your suite.’

Kacee followed Colette up the stone steps and onto the landing’s majestic red and gold carpet. They turned left into a wood-panelled corridor. Bowls of crystal light hung from the ceiling, highlighting the gilt-framed battle scenes lining the walls. Eventually Colette stopped and opened a heavily carved door. Kacee smiled and walked past her into the bedroom. It could have swallowed her whole apartment.

Sunlight poured through four full-height windows, catching the gold braid in the pink curtains. Every piece of the flamboyant cream and gold furniture reflected in a glassy pool of golden-brown parquet flooring. The deep pink draping the four-poster bed continued into the bedcover and pillows. Burnt sienna wood panelling extended halfway up the walls before giving way to pink and cream flowers. Kacee raised her head. Lavish patterns in gold, pink and cream decorated the ceiling’s recessed square panels. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all she noticed. 22
^nd
century cameras had found their way into this 17
^th
century bedroom.

Colette’s hand swept across two ornate cream dressers straddling a coral marble fireplace. ‘I put your clothes in these.’

‘Thank you Colette.’

‘This is a pretty room, yes
Madame
?’

‘Sure is.’

‘It is
La Chambre de Pauline
.’

Kacee had studied Francois’s ancestry in depth. ‘Is that Napoleon’s sister?’

Colette bit her bottom lip. Kacee reached out and gently raised her chin. ‘You can tell me Colette, we are all friends.’

Colette’s eyes peeked through her fringe. ‘She was a mistress of the Emperor.’

Kacee smiled.
That figures
.

10:57 SAT 21:10:2119

Red Zone, London, England, Sector 2

Pulling up his jacket collar and ramming his neck down, Jason left the Food Ministry building and hurried towards the Admiralty Arch barrier. They had wind and rain in New York, but not these endless doom and gloom days. His Mediterranean heritage might be five generations old, but his olive skin still needed a regular dose of solar-powered UV.

He headed for the dark-blue uniform with gold epaulettes standing under the left-hand arch. CONSEC had more than Defenders protecting Red Zones, every Advocate and SIS Prosecutor had first been a Gold Agent. The uniform stiffened and the female Agent made eye contact.

‘Good morning Commander. I’m sorry, but your car has been delayed.’

Jason snatched up his wrist, 11:03. ‘How long?’

The Agent’s posture didn’t slack, ‘Forty minutes, sir.’

Jason looked up towards a distinctive hum. The yellow suitcase-like shell of a Prefect hovered in the shadows of the arch, its antigravity ion discharge producing a faint crackle in the moist air. He stared into its large circular lens and wondered if a nosy human Controller was staring back.

Two red bands girdling the Prefect’s yellow armour hinted at its lethality and the green light on its indicator panel meant this one was in surveillance mode.

Jason and everyone else entering a zone had their biofield ID scanned and stored at Central. If a Prefect detected an unmatched biofield, it emitted an ear-piercing screech to warn everyone to stand clear. Once connected to the Network, a human Controller would disengage the Prefect’s weapon locks. If you waited for CONSEC, the Prefect remained passive; if you decided to run, it killed you.

Detecting a Drone in the Red and Blue Zones automatically disengaged the weapon locks.

Jason made two decisions. The second being if this Prefect came any closer, he was going to punch it. His head whipped back to the Agent. ‘Forget the car, let me through.’

Leaving Admiralty Arch behind, Jason leaned into the wind-driven rain and strode off in the direction of Charing Cross.
What a waste of a Saturday morning
.

He lifted his head at the reverberations of a passing missile battery. Twenty years ago, the Council had closed the airspace above all Zones and ringed them with hundreds of missile launchers. Unfortunately, all the missiles in the World couldn’t stop Colossus. Nothing could.

Jason would be far away by then. He’d given up trying to persuade Steve to come along. Steve had found love; Jason wasn’t looking. At least not down here.

Halfway up Regent Street, on the opposite pavement, a restless mass of dark umbrellas herded. As Jason drew closer, a splash of yellow burst from the barren assortment of black; a small umbrella sprinkled with daisies, one metre from the ground.

It was odd seeing a child from Provenance’s nurseries, the Council were well aware of the maternal resentment simmering beneath a mask of compliance. Lastborns were revered for their uniqueness and since 2096, the Detention Centres guaranteed it.

Jason speeded up. He didn’t agree with everything the Council did, but they had got that one right. Any child born on Earth today wouldn’t reach its fiftieth birthday.

At Oxford Circus, a tower of black granite glistened. Every subway station had a monument blocking its entrance. A legacy of the Resistance, and a barrier to the concrete-foam filled tunnels. Rain wept through the gold lettering, ‘OUR NAMES WILL BE FORGOTTEN, BUT IN YOU OUR DREAMS ARE UNIVERSAL’. Six two-metre-high columns of names supported the inscription. The Oxford Circus bomb, like the other nineteen, had detonated during rush hour. The Resistance no longer targeted civilians; they’d won that battle.

Jason turned left, broke through the pedestrian line, and crossed the road. A blustery sea of umbrellas jostled for position on Oxford Street’s slick pavements. Red driverless buses and chauffeured black cabs crawled by, the
click
,
click
of their hybrid engines muted by the whistling wind. Anonymous faces peered from the buses’ drizzle-streaked windows, the dull vacant faces of Drones. Continuity used cabs.

A whiff of a ‘Kubizkrisp’ stand caught Jason’s attention. He licked his lips and thought about stopping, but didn’t. He had a date tonight and he’d need an appetite.

As he passed, savoury steam rose from the hotplate and swirled around the onlookers. He recognised the only pair of eyes not watching the food preparation. His Guardian was close.

Reassured, Jason allowed his thoughts to float on the aromatic wisps. He wasn’t sentimental, but he loved his mom and those glorious summer days on Coney Island. ‘Kubizkrisp’ mixed with popcorn, cotton candy and the screams of a hundred excited kids in a wonderland of flashing lights and magical machines that spellbound upturned faces.

Jason shrugged and the steam evaporated. Coney Island wouldn’t be casting spells anymore. He lowered his head and hustled on through.

Approaching a large department store he decided to test his Guardian with a tail-break, the driving rain had upped a gear and it was as good an excuse as any to get inside. Jason pushed through the glass door and shook his dripping jacket over the mat. In the mirrored wall, he slicked back his hair and grinned.
You never know who you gonna meet.

The most prestigious on Oxford Street, the
Palace
sold a mixture of high-end fashion, jewellery, and perfume. These people were Continuity; the Drones credit ceiling ensured their exclusion from luxury shopping. Money had long gone, but wealth still ruled, as did envy. Something else the Resistance exploited.

A middle-aged woman preened herself in a holo-mirror. The sycophantic assistant drooled close by, ‘So much better in black, I can practically see the years drop away.’

Jason’s gaze bounced. You need to fix that mirror.

At the centre of the store, inclined autopaves rose through sparkling mirrored shafts. Two thirds of the way up, Jason spun around.
Oh, not you again
. Four other people stood on the autopave. Three looked up; one woman looked away. Sky-blue skiing jacket, short and slim, with a cute tanned face framed by a brunette bob. On any other occasion, he might have asked her out.