“I think so,” he found himself contemplating a climb down through its centre, “Only one way to find out.”
Izzy checked her watch, “Fifteen minutes.”
“Let’s get moving,” he said.
Once again, it seemed that a train carriage was about to save his life.
PROOF
Bradley prodded his finger down on the table.
“An’ I’m telling you, that somethin’ here don’t make a scrap of sense!”
When Robert made no reply, Bradley continued.
“I checked the maps. The huge distance from London to Pico, an’ we covered it just like that,” he clicked his fingers.
“But, Bradley, you said that you lost conscious-”
“Come on!” he interrupted, “Ain’t no way in hell that I could’ve been unconscious for days! They’re hiding something, Robert. And I wanna know what it is.”
Robert appeared to assess him again. Although they were the only two in the room, he lowered his voice.
“Bradley, you realise how…” he raised his hands apologetically, “…paranoid… this sounds?”
“Doesn’t make me wrong,” he pointed out, “Somethin’ happened on that sub. I didn’t just sleep through it.”
“OK, how can you be sure of that?”
“Cos I damn well pissed my pants!” he kept his voice low, “I ain’t proud of it, but they were still wet when I woke up in the sub airlock!”
He hadn’t told anyone of his embarrassing loss of bodily control, but it seemed the only way to make Robert believe him.
“That sub covered fifteen hundred miles in minutes not days! I know for a fact that Archive never cooked up an engine that could go that fast. No…” Bradley shook his head, “they know somethin’ and they’re covering it up.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Robert shrugged, “We can’t just start spinning accusations into a reason for detaining them.”
“Didn’t used to be a problem for ya, Wild,” he retorted.
Robert opened his mouth to offer a rebuke, but instead took a deep breath.
“Bradley,” his shoulders sagged, “Archive has done its bit. It didn’t stop Siva, but it saved a lot of people. The people here now are the survivors. The winners. You may not like how it all turned out, but everyone here has to build something new from the pile of shit we’ve been left with.”
Bradley tried a new approach, “An’ you’re happy to build that future on a lie?”
Robert folded his arms, “Why are you telling me about this? Why not go straight to Broxbourne?”
“I wanna go to him with proof, not a theory,” Bradley replied, though he knew the main reason was something else: if he was wrong about his suspicions, he’d lose any credibility he had with the oldest Archive member on the island.
“You clearly know what you want to happen, Bradley, so stop playing games, and tell me what you want.”
Bradley smiled then turned to face the calibration chair and equipment at the far side of the room.
“My mom passed everything she knew ’bout the ego-morph program onto you,” he said, “Never had the patience for all that science stuff myself, but you did…”
“I only built on what she theorised,” Robert appeared to fold his arms a little tighter, “But we’re not using the tech the same way now.”
“It’ll be close enough,” he said, “Enough to get some truthful answers -”
“I’m not getting involved. I’m done wi-”
“You ain’t done!” Bradley banged his fist on the table, “You do not wanna test me on this! I know enough ’bout you to get you thrown off this li’l patch of paradise, so you’re gonna play nice.”
Robert’s stare deflected away to the chair. After several seconds of contemplation, he unfolded his arms and placed both hands on the table.
“The next calibration test, tonight,” he said, “I’ll leave the room. You can ‘talk’ with him then. That’s the best I -”
“I ain’t stupid, Wild,” Bradley interrupted and rose to his feet, “You’ll need to turn off the exit safeguard too.”
Robert sighed but made no attempt to stand up.
“You’re a bastard, Pittman.”
“Water,” he shrugged, “Duck’s back.”
“Dot Pittman,” Robert spoke in a low tone, “She was a good mentor.”
“Excuse me?” he frowned.
Robert shook his head and levelled a stare at him.
“There’s a special place in Hell for people who strangle their own mothers.”
Bradley remembered the heated moment only too well. It was something that he hadn’t told anyone, but it seemed that Robert had somehow got his hands on a hushed-up police report and intended to blackmail him.
“That supposed to be some sorta threat?”
“A guarantee,” Robert looked at him, “I’m too old for this shit. You try getting me exiled from Pico, and I guarantee you’ll get what you deserve.”
Bradley did his best not to react. He simply turned and walked away as confidently as he could.
“Pleasure doin’ business with you, Wild.”
DEPARTURE
Marcus glanced down through the sloping carriage to the water at the far end, “How long left?”
“Eight minutes,” Izzy checked her watch, “Maybe seven.”
“Terry’s almost down there,” he pointed to the Iseult’s inflatable dinghy bobbing on the water.
“Tris,” she radioed, “Terry and Megan are in place, I’m heading down with Marcus.”
“Underst…d,” interference distorted his reply, “we’ll prep the winch. You’ve got about five min…”
“Five?”
“We’ll need a minute to clear the airlock… can dive.”
Izzy clipped the radio to her jacket and began climbing down through the carriage. Marcus gave her a few seconds, then followed after her.
The carriage had come to rest embedded in the building with the seats facing forward. As it had drooped, the seat-backs had become a set of ledges that could be climbed down; a staggered array of filthy, nylon stepping stones reaching to the water that lapped at the carriage’s opening below.
He watched Izzy switch to the other side of the carriage; there was an awkward table section below, where the seats faced each other. Although the carriage wasn’t completely vertical, the table was now a slippery-surfaced obstacle to be avoided.
The wind picked up, blowing in through the broken side windows. For a second, Marcus thought he felt the entire carriage move, but on seeing that Izzy was continuing her descent, he forced himself onward.
As he passed the table section, he saw that the surface was covered with graffiti, the largest of which was an Exordi Nova circle. People had once used this carriage as a meeting place, he thought, or possibly even a home.
Izzy reached the bottom and he could see Ian Holister was helping her down into the waiting dinghy. Terry and Megan were looking up at him, eyes wide with anxiety. Despite feeling less than secure, Marcus flashed a quick smile for their benefit.
“Come on!” Megan shouted.
Within a few more steps he found himself poised by the carriage’s open end. On the dark water, a few feet below, was the dinghy itself and several hands reaching up to offer help.
Taking hold of the knotted rope that Terry had brought from a place called the Gene Pool, Marcus began lowering himself down. As the carriage above him shuddered, he lost grip of the rope and fell down into the dinghy. Immediately everyone’s hands stabilised him, and he sat down next to Izzy.
“Now!” Ian called into his radio.
There was a jolt and he felt his muscles tense; the dinghy was being winched in. He turned to see that they were skimming across the Thames towards the brightly-lit Iseult.
“Never thought I’d be so glad to see it,” he shook his head.
Behind them, a splintering, crunching sound began.
Marcus watched as the carriage drooped lower,
wrenching itself from the building and tearing a large hole through more of the floors. With an almost whale-like groan, it broke free of the steel and concrete, and slid down into the water’s frothing bubbles.
The dinghy bumped into the sub and he turned to see Tristan helping Izzy out first. He didn’t need her skills to know what was going through their minds. Ian helped him get Megan and Terry aboard, and they all ran along the deck to the airlock.
“Three minutes!” Tristan yelled, “It’ll be tight, but everyone get inside!”
Marcus pushed the others ahead of him and then looked back at the building. The pointed upper third was missing; sliced clean off by a fragment impact. Against the black sky, fires raged throughout the structure and he could see floors inside beginning to collapse. He felt a chill run through him at the thought that they’d survived. But soon he realised that the chill wasn’t imaginary; the wind seemed to have become much colder. It was possible that it was simple fatigue, but he thought he saw frost forming on the surface of the rippling water.
“Marcus, come on!” Izzy pulled him into the airlock.
With everyone crammed into the Glaucus airlock, the door slid shut and the compact cylindrical pod dropped inside. Again he felt his muscles tense, but the experience was short-lived. The door flew open and Marcus dashed for the forward compartment.
A few seconds later, Tristan was manning the helm and pushing the Iseult into a swift dive, a multitude of alarms and warning sounds blaring as the forward window dipped under the surface of the water.
“Negative two forty-one!” Izzy was relaying temperatures, “It’s still dropping!”
“What’s going on?!” Marcus called out.
“We’re leaving,” Tristan replied then picked up a handset. Speaking into its microphone, his voice echoed around the sub, “Everyone, grab hold of something, this might be rough.”
He hung up the handset and pointed at Bradley who was still handcuffed to a chair, “Marcus, get him out of here.”
“Put him in the airlock,” Izzy tossed him the handcuff keys.
“What?” Bradley suddenly looked fearful, “You damn well need me! If you leave me behind -”
“Shut. Up!” Marcus unlocked his restraints and manhandled him out of the room. With a certain degree of satisfaction, he used his full weight to push Bradley along the short corridor and shove him into the open airlock.
“I’m serious!” Bradley now stammered.
Marcus poised his finger over the airlock’s door button.
“It would make my day to flush you out of the airlock, but yeah, we need you. The moment that ain’t true…” he shook his head and pressed the button.
The airlock door slid closed.
“Two fifty-four!” Izzy’s voice reached him along the corridor.
“Cutting mano-jets!” Tristan reported, and suddenly the sub’s manoeuvring thrusters fell silent.
Marcus felt the deck sway under his feet, then level out. But the dizzy sensation in his head didn’t subside. A ringing began in his ears and he lowered himself to the floor.
“Tristan,” he called out, “What’s…?”
He knew he was about to faint; something he could feel but also remember. As though struck by an intense form of déjà vu, he spoke the words that had happened next, “Hold on.”
A vibration transferred through the floor.
“Hold on!” Tristan’s muffled voice arrived.
“Zero K boundary,” Marcus remembered more words as he closed his eyes.
Suddenly the air felt viscous, as though it had a tangible thickness that had to be pushed through.
“Zero K boundary!” Tristan’s voice faded into the darkness.
He awoke, seemingly instantly, to find Izzy at his side.
“Come on,” she shook him, “Get up!”
She helped him sit up.
“What happened Iz?” he slowly got to his feet.
“I don’t know,” she replied, “But we’re at the ARC.”
“What?” the idea seemed ridiculous, “How long was I out?”
“We don’t know, but -”
A buzz came from the direction of the forward compartment, and a transmission echoed out.
“Unidentified vessel, on bearing zero four five from Pico Island. You have entered protected territory. Transmit your authorisation key.”
Marcus joined Izzy in the short dash back to the forward compartment. As they ran into the small room, a warning siren briefly sounded. He could see Tristan frantically glancing between screens.
“They just launched something!”
“At us?” Marcus ran to his side.
Tristan studied the sonar, but didn’t reply.
“Tris!” Marcus raised his voice, “Are we the target?”
His eyes again darted between screens.
“No,” his shoulders seemed to relax, “It’s heading away from us.”
“Unidentified vessel,” the comm panel speaker sounded, “I repeat, this is protected territory. Transmit your authorisation key.”
“My key will be out of date,” Tristan reminded them, “I can stall them with what I have, but we need Pittman.”
“I just put him in there,” Marcus glanced in the direction of the corridor, “I remember his code, let’s just use it.”
“Context,” Tristan shook his head, “Just because he used one code before, doesn’t mean it will be the same one here. There may be counter-responses that we don’t know about. Safer to get him up here.”
“Dammit,” Marcus quickly retraced his steps to the airlock and punched at the door release button.
Evidently Marcus was not the only one to have fainted; Bradley was unconscious on the floor. The thought of trying to raise the bulky man filled him with dread.
“Hey!” he yelled at him.
Bradley’s eyes immediately snapped open, his expression one of confusion.
“Get up,” Marcus held a hand out toward him.
Bradley rolled himself upright, “What the hell happened?”
“We’re at Pico,” he summarised, “Time for you to deliver your end of the deal.”
“Hold your damn horses,” Bradley rubbed at his face, “Just let me… wait a minute, how can we be at Pico alread-”
“Later!” Marcus again thrust his hand out, “Any second they’re gonna treat us as hostile, you need to call ’em off!”
Moving with surprising speed for someone his size, he got to his feet, ignoring Marcus’ offered hand. Standing face to face with him, Bradley forced a grin.
“Told you didn’t I? In this world, it’s all about who you know.”
“We’ll see,” Marcus backed out of the airlock and allowed him to pass.
As they approached the communications panel, he could see that Tristan was already holding out a handset. Without a word, Bradley took it and sat down.
Flicking idly at the unlocked handcuffs that were still attached to the chair, he raised the handset to his mouth.
“Pico Island,” he smiled at Marcus, “This is Archive Executive ident alpha echo five seven dash one x-ray niner.”
He dropped the handset to his lap and turned to Tristan.
“Their folks are gonna check it out, then it’ll be home sweet home.”
An uneasy silence followed and Bradley shifted slightly in his seat. Although he maintained his smile, it wasn’t as wide as before. Hopefully Izzy was watching Bradley carefully, it would be great to hear her insights. When Marcus turned to check where she was, he saw that she wasn’t in the room.
“Confirm please,” Bradley spoke into the handset.
“This is General Broxbourne,” the speaker sounded, “Proceed to the docking bay.”
Bradley raised the handset again and began laughing.
“Broxbourne? You ol’ son of a gun! Have I got news for you.”
“Be advised,” Broxbourne replied, “we are currently tracking inbound orbital debris and are engaged in a Deflector missile sequence. Maintain your
depth.”
Again, Marcus felt a dizzying motion sickness; as though his inner ear was experiencing something different to what he was seeing.
“Now let’s just check this out,” Bradley stood from his chair, “You can hear me, right?”
A strong sense of déjà vu hit Marcus again, but instinctively he knew something wasn’t quite right. He turned to Tristan, but saw that he’d vanished from the console.
“I said, can you hear me?” Bradley’s voice got louder as he approached.
“Yeah I hear you,” Marcus stared back, “you piece of -”
Bradley punched him in the chest. He felt his muscles tense and he fell.
The cold deck rammed into him and he found he couldn’t move.
“I guess that answers that one!” Bradley laughed, “Ain’t no exit for you.”
Marcus knew that things hadn’t gone this way. He distinctly remembered the Iseult’s docking at the ARC. The welcome, the food, even the long shower he’d taken to wash months of dirt away. Something was very wrong.
“You remember the airlock?” Bradley stood over him, “The one you pushed me in?”
Marcus of course did, and immediately found himself standing within it. Bradley was now standing on the opposite side of the door.
“This didn’t happen,” Marcus murmured to himself.
“Sure it did!” Bradley laughed, “Must be somethin’ wrong with your head.”
“No… I -”
“You an’ me, Mr. Networking,” he smiled, “We’re gonna have a real long chat. I’m gonna close this door now, but you just sit tight, I’ll be back in a few days. Try not to get too thirsty.”
The door slid shut and Marcus was left alone in the dark.
LINK
Rachel thought the man looked familiar, but there was something about his behaviour that wasn’t right. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he was just standing at the entrance to the central control room. Waiting.
She left her desk and walked to the entrance. Along the way she realised that he was one of the people who’d arrived on the Iseult.
“Ian?” she tried, “Ian Holister?”
The Bridge Page 15
