Zero Zero Zero

by Harlan Finchley

  Zorban smiled. “You’ll tell us everything. It just depends how many times we need to hit you first.”

  “I don’t know where the shard is.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” Zorban pulled his arm back as he prepared to hit him again.

  Sebastian forced his mind to remain clear for a few more moments.

  “No, stop. Just let me get my breath.”

  To Sebastian’s surprise his captor released him. Sebastian slumped to his knees.

  “Go on, last chance.”

  Sebastian raised his head to Zorban. Motes of light danced around him, a prelude to unconsciousness.

  “I took the shard from El Duce, but someone stole it from me and left me to die in space.”

  Zorban rocked his head from side to side. “That’s plausible.”

  Sebastian formed a command, but could only whisper: Believe him.

  “It’s plausible, because I’ve told you the truth,” he said.

  “What’s the robber’s name?”

  “He’s a conman. He gave me different names: Raphael Dubois, Thomas McTavish, Philippe LaGrain.”

  “That’s no longer plausible.” Zorban raised a fist.

  Sebastian’s vision dimmed. “This man told El Duce I was here, but he’ll double-cross El Duce, too.”

  Zorban leaned over him. Waves of putrid breath washed over Sebastian.

  “I hope you’ve told the truth. They’ll let me kill you then.”

  A boot swung toward his face and blackness mercifully descended.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “YOU MUST LIKE IT HERE,” the medic said, smiling down at Sebastian.

  Sebastian nodded, but a shooting pain in his neck made him wince.

  “How long will I need to stay this time?” he said

  “You do like being here. It’ll probably be a week.”

  Sebastian nodded. If his luck held, they’d punish him with another spell in Solitary after which he might last for another few months before he ran out of bones to break.

  WARDEN SARK VISITED Sebastian before he left for Solitary.

  “I’ve considered your case,” he said. “Clearly someone wants you dead, but I can keep special inmates locked in their cells with meals delivered to their rooms and no Association.”

  “Thank you,” Sebastian said.

  Sark took a step back. “Just make sure your information piques my interest.”

  On Sebastian’s return to Level Zero Sark kept his word. He stayed in his cell at mealtimes and guards brought him food. Most satisfyingly, his door remained closed as the release of bolts ricocheted around the Circle, heralding the start of Association.

  Sebastian tugged the door to make sure, but it didn’t move. So he settled down on his cot and waited. Two days passed before the guards came for him. By then, he’d prepared his opening pitch.

  The guards escorted him to a small office near Sark’s office. There, they pushed him into a chair. After five minutes, Sark and another guard strode in and his first interview began.

  Sebastian smiled. “My problem is that I don’t know which bit of the information I have most concerns the people trying to kill me.”

  “Simply tell me everything,” Sark said, as Sebastian hoped he would.

  If Sebastian told Sark his entire criminal career, the tale would last ten minutes, and he knew little about El Duce’s line of work. Luckily, he’d also hung around the wrong sort of bars for much of his life and had heard dubious tales with which to construct criminal adventures.

  After half an hour, Sark clumped out of the office and left the guard to take Sebastian’s confession. Sebastian finished his tale of a dubious liquor fraud he’d heard about a few years previously and requested the transcript to check the details.

  Hunched and yawning, the guard complied, the boredom in his stance as he dropped the printout into Sebastian’s lap boding well. With the first tale complete Sebastian settled into his life of storytelling and pernickety detail checking. He extended the hiatus to two months before Sark called for him again.

  “You’ve told us an interesting collection of tall tales so far,” Sark said. “They’re high on storytelling, but low on specifics. Perhaps you’ve misunderstood how this works. You tell me things that will let me put criminals in here. You do not dictate your life story.”

  “I’m sorry. As I said, I don’t know why they want to kill me so I’m telling you everything. Hopefully, you can work out the crucial pieces of information.”

  Sark slammed a fist on his desk. “I don’t have the resources or the patience. I suggest you think in your own time and come to me when you’ve worked out what you should tell me.”

  With this ultimatum Sark dismissed him. Sebastian returned to his cell, feeling surprised at his subdued reaction. At mealtime, the bar on his door ratcheted open. Clearly, his special status had ended, but Sebastian had gained more than just a cell to himself as, for another month, he enjoyed a dull routine.

  Despite being prepared for more fights, no Zeroers approached him or showed an interest in him, and even Zorban and the other surviving nurses ignored him as they paraded through the Circle. Sebastian surmised the Doctor had only hired them.

  Either the Doctor had been El Duce’s only operative in Level Zero or El Duce was considering a deal. So he wasn’t surprised when, after eating his breakfast slop, he returned to his cell and a guard was barring the door.

  “You have a visitor,” the guard said. “Come with me.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Who is it?”

  “It’s El Duce.”

  Sebastian smiled before he followed the guard to the visitor room. Only one man was there. He’d met El Duce only once before and all he could remember about him was the flash of jeweled teeth, but even his silhouette behind the polarized glass appeared confident.

  Trying to match the confidence that was in the other’s stance, Sebastian approached the glass and prepared a gentle push: Honor the bargain. This man is useful.

  Sebastian sat down as the guard flipped a switch. The glass cleared revealing that the man wasn’t El Duce. It was Raphael Dubois, his blue eyes sparkling and his lean face framed by the high collar of an expensive tailored suit.

  “Morning, Sebastian,” he said. “You’re still alive, I see.”

  Sebastian leaped from his chair and grabbed the edge of the table as he put his face up close to the glass.

  “You double-crossing swine,” he said.

  Raphael raised his hands. “Don’t get excited. You might hurt yourself.”

  Sebastian pressed his forehead against the glass. A tingle of electricity prickled his skin, so he dropped into his seat.

  “So your current name is El Duce. You’ve been more original in the past.”

  “El Duce is my name now.”

  “The real El Duce won’t be impressed.”

  Raphael rubbed his chin. “You’re right. He wasn’t impressed. Then again, as I now control his empire, that’s not important.”

  “You’re a conman so I doubt that. You’ve only come to gloat.”

  “I haven’t. I’ve come to thank you. If you hadn’t directed El Duce at me, I’d never have found out how useful our riches could be, and just how easy it is to buy protection and go into business yourself, especially when the business is already so well organized.”

  “You’ve thanked me, now goodbye.” With a snarl Sebastian stood up.

  Raphael shook his head. “Don’t go. I have something to tell you. The shard you stole from the old El Duce is an interesting device. His former operatives kindly told me what it does.”

  “Why would a conman want a revolutionary storage device?”

  Raphael grinned. A jeweled tooth glinted in his mouth.

  “That was a good guess, but it’s not a storage device.”

  “So what is it?”

  “It makes you immortal.” Raphael chuckled. “So you’ll give it to me.”

  “I’m not telling you where I’ve hidden it.”


  Raphael leaned forward, his breath creating a cloud on the glass between them.

  “I know where the shard is.” He tapped his neck. “On the spacehopper you told me you’d inserted it in your neck port. No one else has worked that out. They had too much faith in the penal colony’s electronic net.”

  Sebastian threw back his head and laughed. The laugh sounded false to his ears.

  “That’s a big assumption, based on no facts.”

  Raphael tapped the glass. “I’ve learned things the old El Duce didn’t know. The creator of the shard designed it to fuse with a port system. It’s a form of chameleon hardware that’s invisible to normal searches unless you know what to look for, which I do.”

  Sebastian scratched his chin and smiled. “That’s a good theory, but hard to prove.”

  Raphael grinned and withdrew a small box from his jacket.

  “I could rip out your neck port and prove my theory, but if I’m not careful such a drastic action would kill you. Of course, if I’m wrong, I’d apologize afterward.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “You’ll need to get to me first and I have allies in here. They saved me before and they’ll save me again.”

  “I heard about your battles. I assume you’ve offered a deal using the information you reckon you have. It won’t help. I’m getting you out of here. Say thank you.”

  “You aren’t as powerful as you think. You can’t do that.”

  Raphael threw the box in the air and caught it. He relaxed in his chair.

  “We both know who really killed Professor Philippe LaGrain. An expensive team of lawyers is currently working on the inconsistencies in your case. I should get you pardoned in a week. Then I’ll wait at the exit to escort you to freedom.”

  “I’ll kill myself rather than let you get the shard.”

  Raphael stood up to leave. “Dying will be fine, too. I’ll instruct my lawyer to claim your body, so I can organize a proper burial for my old friend.”

  Sebastian snarled at Raphael. “You won’t win.”

  “I already have. I’ll see you in a week. It’s a pity you won’t enjoy your freedom for long.”

  SEBASTIAN COLLARED a guard after evening meal and demanded a visit with Sark. Within an hour guards arrived at Sebastian’s cell and escorted him to Sark’s office.

  “So you have more information,” Sark said. “Is this real information or another tall tale?”

  “Everything I’ve said is the truth, but I have a new name. A new El Duce controls the gangs in New Vancouver. I can help you jail him.”

  Sark relaxed in his chair. “For someone who claimed to be a small cog, you know a lot.”

  Sebastian ignored the jibe. “A man visited me today. He’s sometimes called Raphael Dubois, but he uses several aliases. He killed Professor Philippe LaGrain and framed me. Now he controls El Duce’s old empire.”

  Sark sighed. “So someone with the power to take over the biggest underworld gang in the sector takes the trouble to frame you for a professor’s murder. Why didn’t he simply dispose of you? What do you have that he wants?”

  “He believes I have a data shard.”

  Sark tapped on his console. Sebastian’s revelation didn’t noticeably shake him.

  “Do you have it?”

  “I know where it is.”

  “So what information is stored on this shard? Is it a secret plan for galactic conquest? Or is it a new super weapon? Or maybe it’s even the secret of eternal youth?”

  “I’m serious,” Sebastian said, the sarcasm making his heart thud. “Raphael reckons it can make you immortal.”

  Sark chuckled. “I expected nothing less. I’d like to thank you for trying to entertain me this time. Informers usually give me details of a robbery, committed by a man of medium build, of uncertain age, wearing a dark coat. I don’t normally get offered immortality.”

  “Raphael said immortality, not me.”

  Sark leaned forward and pressed a button on the side of his desk. A moment later the door burst open behind him and at least two guards stepped into the office.

  “It’s time to show me you’re serious, Sebastian. I won’t ask if you know what the real information on the shard is, but tell me where you’ve hidden it and I’ll investigate Philippe LaGrain’s murder. I’ll even investigate this Raphael Dubois. Is it a deal?”

  “It’s a deal. I need maps of New Vancouver and I’ll work out where I stashed it.”

  Sark thrust his hands above his head and screamed with a long, drawn-out yell. Outburst over, he slapped both hands down on the table.

  “There comes a moment when any sane man says that’s enough. I’ve followed their direction for too long. Now it’s time to end this farce.”

  With a wave Sark beckoned the guards. The nearest one wrapped an arm wrap around Sebastian’s neck.

  “What’s wrong? I can work out where I left it.”

  Sark keyed into his console. “I’m sure you could, but I can find it a whole lot faster. Can you remember what Ginger Tom told you a couple of months ago?”

  “Tom said lots of things.”

  Sark stabbed a finger on his console and a printer spewed out a card with a clatter.

  “He told you that everyone here works for El Duce.” Sark smiled, making Sebastian’s guts contract. “If my bosses had told me the shard was chameleon hardware and invisible to our electronic net, I wouldn’t have bothered humoring you, but since Raphael Dubois arrived on the scene common sense has prevailed.”

  As Sark picked up the card, another set of footsteps clumped into the office and approached him. Forlornly, Sebastian stretched his neck as far back as possible, to find that a medic was standing beside him.

  “What do you want, sir?” the medic asked.

  With a flourish, Sark scrawled on the card and then pointed at Sebastian.

  “The shard is in this man’s neck port.”

  The medic stepped in front of Sebastian and leaned forward.

  “Just so I’m clear, what do I do if you’re right?”

  Sark handed the card to the medic. “Remove it and bring it to me. Then dispose of the body.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE MEDIC LED SEBASTIAN from Sark’s office, along a connecting corridor and into another corridor that led to the hospital. Three guards accompanied them.

  “You don’t need to do this,” Sebastian said.

  The medic gestured at him. “Be quiet.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. If you kill me because you’ve been ordered to, I’d like to know who takes my life.”

  They marched through the hospital entrance and slipped into a corridor leading to the operating theaters.

  “Be quiet,” the medic said again.

  “You patched me up when I was injured. You save lives, not take them, and you don’t want to kill me. At least let me know your name.”

  “I’m Doctor Jameson.”

  They turned into another corridor. “Where do you live?”

  “I’m from Saint Bartlett.” Jameson stopped and withdrew a green surgical gown from a cabinet outside the theater. He indicated the operating table to the guards. “Strap him down and wait outside.”

  “You’ll need to falsify records to explain my death, but you’re a real doctor, not a gangster.”

  Two guards took hold of Sebastian’s arms and dragged him, struggling, to the table. Jameson paused in putting on his surgical gown and waved his card at Sebastian.

  “Sark’s already signed your death certificate. I don’t need to falsify anything.”

  Sebastian sighed. As the guards strapped him to the operating table, he formed the push that would save his life, by dying.

  SEBASTIAN OPENED HIS eyes. A blanket covered him and he threw it away. With the pure white light, pain ripped through his skull. Gulping back an acrid taste in his mouth, he wheeled around to ease his legs over the side of the mortuary slab.

  Bodies surrounded h
im and he wrinkled his nose at the cloying disinfectant smell of the place. The clock on the wall showed that thirty minutes had passed since he’d left Sark’s office and the man would get impatient soon.

  Sebastian forced himself to stand up and the world swayed. After shuffling forward a few steps, nausea cramps hit him and he vomited. Bile splashed over the white tiled floor, something that had never happened before, but then again the push he’d used felt like it’d fused his mind.

  Calmer now, he tottered to the mortuary door and edged up to its window. He didn’t reckon anyone would patrol outside late at night and it appeared that no one did. Sebastian leaned against the doorjamb and tried to recall any details about the mortuary layout.

  He’d pushed Jameson with a complex set of instructions as soon as the guards left the operating theater. The pain that caused had blanked out all his senses for long minutes afterward and he could remember little, but Jameson would have wheeled his body to the mortuary.

  Sebastian guessed that this place would be one of the few places in the penal colony with access to the outside world and he had gambled that the guards wouldn’t pry. Another dead inmate wouldn’t surprise anyone and a doctor with a signed death certificate wouldn’t invite further investigation.

  If they’d examined Sebastian, his catatonic state would fool them, as the push had knocked him cold. He tottered from the mortuary, down a bare corridor and on to a reception room. No one guarded the reception room, either.

  Then again, no one would expect inmates to wander out of the mortuary. Uncertainly, he shuffled down another corridor and into a space made by the intersection of several corridors. Wide glass doors lined one wall and Sebastian rattled them, but they were locked.

  He wondered if the blackness beyond was the outside world. Then he turned his attention to a desk with a console that faced the doors. He searched for a door control switch. He couldn’t find one and, worse, footfalls sounded in the corridor he’d used.

  He read the signs beside the corridors and found one that was labeled as loading and collection. Sebastian dashed in the direction of possible freedom. He came to a wide loading bay. Two hovercars were parked by the far wall, while the other wall opened onto emptiness.