Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (31 page)

His stinging eyes urged the adjacent activation bulb to light. It didn’t.

He picked up the locking pin and slid over the servo panel until the bulkhead’s radiating heat warmed his face. It took seven stabs with the pin before a shard of composite fibre fell in and scorched plastic fumes blasted out. Steve started coughing.

He stabbed at the jagged edges until he’d opened a hole large enough to squeeze his head and right arm through. If he could create a leak in a nitrogen feed pipe, the fail-safe would assume someone had activated the servo and one of the gas canisters had malfunctioned. It would switch over to the auxiliaries and deploy the shield.

Gritting his teeth, Steve pushed with his legs, and jammed himself into the claustrophobic oven. He couldn’t breathe.

Through streaming eyes, he guided his hand around the blur of equipment. A cry hummed through his clamped lips, he’d found a gas bottle. With burnt fingertips, he followed the outline of the cylinder until he found the regulator. He struck out at the adjoining pipe, and missed. He couldn’t see.

Pain lanced his chest, bursting lungs screamed for air. He’d have to try again. He wriggled back, pushing against the bulkhead with his left hand.

The opening’s ragged edge snagged his jacket.

With each twist of his body, the beat of desperation quickened and the shard of carbon fibre sliced deeper into his flesh.

He could hold it no more; his mouth burst open, caustic air rushed in. His lungs reacted to the noxious vapours, his chest heaved, and sour vomit dribbled from his gaping mouth. His body had exhausted its last but one line of defence. It retreated to the core, the nausea lessened and dizziness pronounced the onset of unconsciousness.

* * * *
 

Steve blinked gritty eyes. Above, through a veil of smoke, the nose compartment’s ceiling light fluttered in and out of focus. He sniffed and a shroud of hopelessness descended. The vinegary odour was unmistakable — he’d smelt it recently, in the crypt at Winchester.

The shroud settled over his face, smothering the light.

08:28 SAT 04:11:2119

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

Steve blinked awake. A familiar 18
^th
century ceiling replaced the nightmare of Lacusta’s charred face. He raised himself onto his elbows and winced, the stab in his back unlocking memories of incinerating heat and choking desperation.

The French window presented a view of sun-brightened pastures disappearing into an autumnal forest. Francois’s forest.

He swung his legs out of the bed, reached over his right shoulder, and tentatively touched the dressing beneath his T-shirt. As his memory returned, so did the questions.

Standing on shaky legs, Steve drew a rattling breath into straw-dry lungs. In response, his chest lurched into a rasping cough. Cracked lips stretched over clenched teeth as nauseating pain sliced into his jerking shoulder. He slumped back down and stared at his indistinct reflection in the parquet floor, his chest rising and falling in slow controlled breaths.

After a minute, he straightened up and drained the tumbler of water sitting on the bedside cabinet. It was then he noticed his blistered fingertips.

He refilled the tumbler twice more before heading for an armoire.
As he approached it, someone knocked.

‘Come in.’

‘Ah,
mon ami
, you are awake.’ Steve didn’t have to ask how Francois knew that.

Steve smiled. ‘Thanks for taking care of me, again.’

Francois’s shoulders hunched, ‘
De rien.
’ He gestured towards the group of cream and gold striped
bergères
in front of the window. ‘You have saved many people.’

Steve perched on the edge of a chair. ‘I think someone saved me.’

Francois steepled his fingers. ‘Ah Yes, Commander Shundo. He refused assistance from my doctor and dressed your wounds himself.’ His dark eyes remained fixed. ‘Is he a relative?’

Steve shook his head, a broad smile covering a pang of anxiety.
Why
did SIS choose someone who’d remind me of my dead brother?
‘No, a friend of Jason’s. I met him for first time on Friday, Saturday, whatever day it was.’

Francois gazed out of the window. ‘Yes, much has happened in a few days.’ His gaze returned. ‘I believe Kacee tried to kill your friend, she also killed one of my staff.’

The game’s still on.
Steve tightened his grip on the armrest. ‘Why?’

‘Your friend, I do not know. My colleague, I believe that she tried to seduce him and he resisted.’

Sickly sweet vanilla tinged Steve’s senses, ‘Where is she?’

‘I have issued a mandate. We will find her.’

‘I need to speak to her. I — we need to know why.’

‘It will not be easy. I believe Kacee is an SIS Prosecutor.’

A flare of clarity illuminated Steve’s mind.
She’s the Judiciary’s UFO!
‘You think she’s gone upstairs?’

Francois nodded. ‘Yes. I talked to Admiral Smithson, he told me about SIS.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I—’ The heavy carved door flew open, Dee’s polar white teeth shone. ‘Stevie, super hero.’

Steve smiled, as much at Francois’s pinched face as Dee’s comment.

‘Hi, Dee.’

Black combat boots clumped across the wooden floor. Dee slumped into a chair next to Francois.

‘So how ya doing, tomato head?’

Steve rolled his right shoulder. ‘Not bad. Bit stiff.’

‘Yeah well, according to your buddy Shundo, he had to pop in ten big ones. Nasty cut.’

Ten soft-tissue staples were more than Steve had anticipated. He switched the conversation back to Francois.

‘Have you heard from the Council?’

‘No, I have an exercise that starts on Wednesday, but that order came from CONSEC Command, as normal.’

Dee’s head shook. ‘You still on about a conspiracy?’

Steve met the narrow gaze, ‘Have you been on Provenance lately? It’s swarming with AHs and TYPEs. Continuity’s loading. Citadel’s locked down.’ He noted Francois’s attempt to cover a reaction.
Perhaps that’s the que for the attack.

Dee leant in, ‘Loading Continuity is an evac drill — it ain’t nothing unusual.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What were you doing in Citadel?’

‘I was going to speak with Tom Richards.’

Dee flopped back in his chair. ‘How are a few thousand SIS gonna take control of Provenance?’ He tapped his temple, ‘You’re paranoid.’

Francois rested his hand on Dee’s shoulder, ‘You cannot blame Steve for that. His flight left with a master alarm deactivated, that command can only be authorised from the bridge deck. Which I believe is controlled by CONSEC.’

Steve sighed. ‘It is.’ Very clever, Francois. Scatter the seeds of confusion into an already churned up field.

Francois stood and jabbed a glance at Dee. ‘
We
, will meet you in the conference room at—’ He raised his left wrist, ‘Ten?’

‘Ten’s fine.’

‘I will send for you breakfast, I have smoked bacon from
Poitou-Charentes
.’

‘Sounds great, thanks.’

Steve watched them leave. The door closed and reopened, Francois’s head appeared. ‘Someone else to see you.’

Alex closed the door behind him. In his left hand, he carried a green medpac. A flesh coloured bandage partially covered his right. His clothes, like him, had an air of freshness about them. He settled opposite. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m okay. Thanks for stitching me up, and the drugs, and for saving my life. It was you wasn’t it?’

A modest smile accompanied Alex’s beaming eyes. ‘What do you remember?’

‘Heat. Smoke. Suffocating. Did something catch fire?’

‘No. Just a few melted conduits.’

Steve nodded, that probably explained the disconcerting smell. ‘Did you speak to Admiral Smithson?’

‘I didn’t have time. I saw him speaking, well more like arguing, with Francois. I was more concerned about you.’

Of course you were.
‘Why did you come after me? I told you to stay in the cabin.’

There was a slight chest heave under the sky-blue roll-neck. Alex nodded at Steve’s MPS. ‘I modified your bio scan.’ He raised his left wrist and tapped his MPS. ‘I know when you’re in trouble.’

That makes sense. Pity nothing else does.
Steve nodded at the flesh coloured bandage. ‘How’s the hand?’

Alex raised it and turned it over. ‘Fine, first degree, minor epidermal damage, no penetration to the dermis.’

Steve thought of Penny; her injuries always took longer to explain as well. ‘Who applied the bandage?’

‘I did.’

‘What with, garden shears?’ Steve raised an eyebrow, ‘I hope my staples are neater than that.’

Alex’s face curdled, ‘Perhaps I should have let Francois’s doctor take you to his clinic.’

Steve raised his hand. ‘I’m sure you did a great job.’

‘Well, we’ll see won’t we? It’s time to change the dressing.’

Too tired to argue, Steve led Alex to the bathroom and turned to face the full-width vanity mirror. Dee’s tomato analogy was spot on.

He reached over his shoulders and pulled up his T-shirt, a mud coloured stain had spread out beneath the dressing’s plastic coating. Alex placed the medpac on the cream marble countertop and removed a large GelPlas. ‘This will hurt a
little
.’

‘Liar. Argh! You’re supposed to give the patient time to prepare.’

Alex’s reflection appeared, the bloodstained dressing hanging between his thumb and index finger. His eyelids flickered, ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

Steve pondered the reflection a second too long. Alex’s head tilted, ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ Steve rotated his shoulder towards the mirror. A neat row of ten blue finger-width staples bridged a raw tear. ‘How long?’

‘With the GelPlas, two days.’ Alex ripped open a new dressing pack and removed the pad.

‘And the staples?’

‘Three.’

Steve rubbed his stubbled cheek, ‘What about the rouge?’

‘Mild heat radiation, it’ll fade in a few days. Hold still.’

Alex laid the dressing over the staples and pressed. The cooling took effect instantly.

‘All done, but no physical exertion. If you rip out the staples, you’ll need surgery.’ Alex zipped up the medpac, ‘I’ll see you at the meeting.’

‘Will you?’

‘Francois invited me; he said I can stay here while you convalesce.’

Surprise, surprise
. ‘Very kind of him — I’ve decided not to mention Colossus.’

‘Why?’

‘I doubt anyone would believe us, and even if they did it might cause more problems than it solves. Let’s concentrate on the black Prefects.’ Steve doubted SIS would have told Francois about Colossus. He might decide to stay.

‘Okay.’

As Alex turned to leave, Steve grabbed his arm, ‘Before you go, let’s sort out that bandage.’

Alex yanked his arm away with surprising force. ‘It’s fine, I’ll fix it later.’

‘Quid quo pro, Alex.’ Steve held out his hand, ‘Come on.’

The more Steve unwound the more he frowned. He placed the bandage on the marble top and looked up. ‘This is worse than you said, isn’t it?’

Alex nodded.

The dressing had matted to Alex’s palm; an ochre stain spread from the centre. Steve lifted the corner and peeled it away. He let go of Alex’s hand and stepped back. His wide eyes rising to Alex’s passive face before snapping back to the hand. The skin had split, its puckered edges encrusted in black. Through the split, a fine metallic mesh glinted.

‘You can’t be.’ Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, the flicker of a miracle snuffed out. Matt was still dead.

Alex lowered his hand. ‘I am. Model MAA 21-40-02-98.’

Steve exhaled. Whatever it was in front of him, he felt sure it didn’t intend to kill him. ‘You don’t smell.’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Why doesn’t your designation begin with AH?’

‘I’m unique. I won’t harm you; I’m here to help.’

Steve stared. Hair, skin, nails, teeth, everything seemed natural, human. Perhaps he was unique. ‘That may not be up to you.’

‘What do you mean?’

Steve pointed at Alex’s head, ‘Whatever’s in there isn’t necessarily under your control, and either way you wouldn’t know.’

Alex reached into his mouth, twisted and pulled. ‘I share a common interface with other artificials.’ He pointed to the gap in his teeth. ‘But this is the only interface socket to my core and it can only be accessed if
I
remove the plug.’

‘Who made you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘When did you come on line?’

‘Twelve April 2115.’

Steve’s mind painted a candlelit picture of a birthday cake with dyed coconut grass and white marzipan men. Matt loved cricket.

‘Can you alter your face?’

‘No. Why?’

Steve compressed his lips. ‘No reason, it’s nearly perfect.’

‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’

Steve’s remorse surfaced and he masked it as he always did, with anger. ‘You’re a machine, what difference does it make?’ He leapt back, Alex’s balled fist struck the marble top sending a sickening ripple through the mirror above.

‘I AM NOT A MACHINE!’

Steve raised both hands, ‘I’m sorry.’ He studied the reddened and contorted face’s recovery. ‘You’re certainly different. I’ve never seen an AH that can flush their skin.’

Alex winked. ‘I know, sometimes I have to pinch myself.’

Steve now realised that Alex’s mood swings weren’t psychological, they were hardcoded. SIS had tapped into his shell program, trapping the real Alex in the core. In light of Alex’s revelations, Steve assumed he occasionally broke free.

After replacing his tooth, Alex glanced at his MPS. ‘You’ll have to hurry if you want breakfast before the meeting.’

Steve nodded at Alex’s left wrist. ‘I assume you don’t need an MPS to tell the time?’

‘No, but I need to stay incognito.’

‘Why?’

Alex’s face articulated perplexity. ‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s probably a good idea, at least until we find out who created you, and why.’ Steve had a skin tingly premonition that he was involved in the answer to both.