Zero Zero Zero

by Harlan Finchley

  The footfalls approached behind him. He trotted to a car and slipped inside. In the front seat, he ducked down, lowering his body beneath the windows, and listened to the steady thud of footfalls pass by.

  When the footsteps receded, Sebastian raised his head. A man in a white coat was heading away on an errand, which suggested the authorities hadn’t raised the alarm yet, although the car’s clock said he had five minutes before chaos erupted.

  His last instruction to Jameson had been to attach Sebastian’s wrist tag to his arm and go home on the hour. This diversion ought to fool the authorities into believing Sebastian was escaping with the medic. When the white coat left the bay, he tapped the front control panel and started the car.

  “Delivery vehicle ready,” the helpful car voice said. “How many bodies are there to deliver?”

  An answer of ‘none’ wouldn’t get him far, and the car might be sophisticated enough to detect a lie and then lock the controls and raise an alarm. But he didn’t have enough time to get a body.

  “Just the one,” he said.

  “You can now make your delivery.”

  The back doors swung open. Wasting no time on being irritated Sebastian opened his door, swaying as a fresh wave of nausea hit him, and examined the car’s storage area. There were no uniforms or anything to make him appear official, or at least less orange.

  He confirmed the loading bay was still empty and then returned to the mortuary, while edging along beside the walls, but no one else appeared. He slipped into the mortuary and selected the smallest body.

  While offering a silent prayer of apology to the unknown person he was about to violate, he tugged on the body gurney. As he dragged the gurney through the corridors, it squeaked loudly enough to attract the attention of anyone who happened to be nearby.

  Unable to drag the gurney quietly, Sebastian accepted that being cautious was only wasting time and he sped up to a trot. The gurney’s squeak rose to a shriek, but the corridors he passed were empty and dark.

  He wheeled into the loading bay and stopped beside the car. Then, without dignity, he shunted the body into the car’s storage area. As he slammed the doors shut, the echo resounded around the loading bay.

  He flung himself into the front of the car. He tasted acrid bile in his throat as the clock showed that his optimum time for escape had passed.

  “Body loaded,” Sebastian said.

  “Verified and ready,” the car said.

  Sebastian sighed, hoping he wouldn’t need a password, but the car rose up without further encouragement. To his relief no one appeared and challenged him, and the car surged through the loading bay doors.

  As the loading bay receded behind him, Sebastian examined the car’s controls. He figured that if he could take control of the vehicle, he could go anywhere on Crandania.

  I wouldn’t recommend taking control as they’ll notice the unplanned action, a voice said.

  Sebastian flinched, the sudden movement making him dizzy. Then, with relief, he worked out who had spoken.

  Hello, Software. It’s good to have you with me again.

  Again?

  Sebastian sighed, but Software had been right. The penal colony’s authorities would have programmed the car to drive to an undertaker. Any deviation would raise an alarm and his capture would follow. It was now one minute past the hour.

  SEVERAL BUILDINGS WERE ahead. The sprawl was too small to be called a town.

  That’s Mauna, a settlement ten kilometers from New Vancouver, Software said.

  The car sidled into an unlit building whose doors opened without any obvious signal. The journey had let Sebastian’s headache settle, so he hurried out of the car as soon as it landed.

  He padded through the corridors and confirmed that the building was a mortuary. The walls were painted in dull colors, and coffins and plastic flowers were stacked everywhere. Sebastian opened each door until he found a small kitchen.

  There, he gathered up a loaf of bread and some processed food packets. A suit hung on the back of the kitchen door. Dark and somber, it was probably an undertaker’s suit, but it was less noticeable than his fluorescent orange garb.

  He stripped off his orange uniform, pleased to be free at last of its hideous color, and donned the suit. Feeling more confident, Sebastian slipped out of the building through a side window.

  He headed into the forest, following what Software promised was the route to New Vancouver. He hurried on through the trees for an hour until his luck ran out. A hovertruck droned overhead, approaching rapidly.

  Then a searchlight arced in toward him. It followed him accurately, so he assumed they had heat sensitive detectors and night vision aids. As the only thing keeping him free was the inability of the hovertruck to land in such a dense forest, Sebastian stood beside a protective tree and caught his breath.

  The searchlight edged past him and then moved back for a second attempt. As Sebastian trotted away, a staccato blast of gunfire tore out and the tree he’d been standing under fragmented and shattered.

  Sebastian sped up, but another rattle of gunfire cascaded toward him. He threw himself to the ground and rents appeared in the moss beside him. The searchlight washed over his prone body, bathing the ground around him in pure white light.

  Sebastian rolled away into the dark, turned the roll into a leap to his feet and then ran with no regard to his direction. Branches slapped his body, but at least the searchlight illuminated the surrounding area, letting him avoid the worst obstacles.

  Then Sebastian heard a roar that grew closer. With a quick shake of the head he searched for the hovertruck and it was swooping toward him. Sebastian slipped, so he dug in a heel and stopped, scrambling desperately to keep his footing on what turned out to be the steep riverbank of the River Ptarmigan.

  The roaring water surged by ahead. He’d drown in the strong current, so he turned back the way he’d come. The hovertruck, now only a few trees behind him, released a burst of gunfire while its searchlight hurtled across the ground toward him.

  With no other choice, he turned and leaped. The cold water hit him full in the chest, taking his breath away. He pushed his head to the surface, gasping for air, his ears ringing.

  Through the roaring, he heard Software say, Sebastian, you can’t swim.

  Chapter Seventeen

  AS SEBASTIAN HUDDLED beside a fallen tree on the bank of the River Ptarmigan, the morning sun dried the undertaker’s clothes that he had hung over a branch. The river had dragged him over ten kilometers downriver.

  In the night, hovertrucks had twice trundled overhead, but had shown no sign of noticing him. Sebastian had started to hope he might have escaped, provided he didn’t catch pneumonia.

  At dawn he’d eaten his soggy food and, with him feeling slightly warmer, he’d realized for the first time that he had escaped. He donned his clothes, still shivering so violently that he could barely do up the fastenings.

  Then he moved on to town. Eight hours later, and without mishap, he trotted along the street on the outskirts of New Vancouver. Small pools of light dimpled the ground beneath the streetlamps.

  He kept close to the walls to avoid the glare. Sebastian rounded a corner and faced a warehouse bearing the sign ‘Sector Seventeen.’ Somewhere in the darkness, a cat screeched and another cat screeched a reply.

  El Duce had brought him to the warehouse when he’d given him the package with the data shard. Although more than a year had passed since that event, the warehouse hadn’t changed.

  El Duce could have used the place just once or he might have used it as his operational center, at least until Raphael seized control. Either way, Sebastian could now use the building as a hideout.

  Sebastian heard a noise above him and raised his head to the night sky. In the distance a hovertruck whirred. His heart pounded and he flattened himself against the warehouse wall. The truck slowed and swung around, retracing its journey, possibly searching for someone.

  Sebastian dashed across the
open space to the side door of the warehouse. There, the lock demanded a security password. He recalled the last password and pressed his wrist port against the lock.

  Software, try variations on El Duce-six.

  Link found on El Duce-twenty-seven, Software said.

  The lock clicked. With the hovertruck approaching he slipped inside and pressed himself against the wall until his heart stopped racing. The warehouse was empty and barren, with no sign of recent use, much like it had been on his only previous visit.

  Sebastian strode to the spot where El Duce had offered him a drink and turned around, examining all corners of the warehouse. It was too neat and clean to be a disused building. All was still and quiet, so he headed to the back wall that was wreathed in shadows.

  From outside, the building had appeared larger than the room he stood in, so he ran a hand along the wall. His fingers brushed over the edge of a door. He pressed both palms to the edge and pushed, without result and then slid his palms to the left.

  The door slipped along quietly. Beyond was a corridor that was lighter than the warehouse courtesy of the frosted ceiling panels. Without warning, a light shone over the panels. Sebastian stood still while the hovertruck whirred past.

  He reckoned he was safe, but only as long as he stayed in the warehouse. He slipped through the door and moved along a narrow corridor to another door at the end. He opened the door and found more rooms beyond: a living room, a bathroom and a bedroom.

  In the bedroom he felt the bed cover. The material was cold, but not clammy, so someone had stayed here recently. Gingerly, he slumped on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid leaving any signs that he had been here.

  List the tools I need to dismantle you, Software.

  My advice routines exclude such procedures, Software said.

  Sebastian sighed. I’ve decided to dismantle a colleague’s neck port. What should I do?

  Book him an appointment with a registered PortDoc.

  He can’t afford a PortDoc, but he can afford tools. What tools should I buy him?

  Dismantling a neck port is a specialized job. The port is in your skull, so even if you knew how to carry out the procedure, the dexterity required is beyond your capabilities.

  How do you know I can’t? No, don’t answer.

  Software was right that he shouldn’t mess around in his own skull, but booking into a registered PortDoc would draw the attention of the Crandanian authorities. Using an unregistered one would probably have the same result.

  A noise sounded, far away, followed by a clang and then footsteps as someone strode across the storeroom. He got up, straightened the bed covers and tiptoed from the bedroom. He searched for a cabinet to hide in, but couldn’t find one.

  The footsteps approached and the door to the corridor rattled. With no other choice he dropped onto the couch and smiled when the door opened to reveal a clone henchman, decked out in wide-brimmed hat and dark overcoat.

  “Hello, what are you doing here?” Sebastian said.

  The clone turned to him. As usual, he was at least a head taller than Sebastian. Bulges in his jacket hinted at the firepower tucked beneath.

  “I don’t know you,” the clone said.

  “I’ve been away. I came here to hide out.”

  The clone advanced into the room. “Where have you been?”

  Sebastian snorted and let him guess the answer. “You must be new. How long ago did they activate you?”

  “It’s been nine months.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I left a year ago. I returned to see if I could carry on where I left off, but everything’s gone haywire.”

  The clone nodded, flopped into a chair and dropped his hat into his lap.

  “Tell me about it. Some new guy seized control and killed most of us.”

  Sebastian attempted a sad expression. “Did El Duce survive?”

  The clone shrugged. “I don’t know, but we just need to sit tight and see what the new one does.”

  “Are you joining him?”

  “No.”

  “Then fighting him?”

  “I’m going to sleep. You can take the couch.” The clone trotted through to the bedroom.

  Sebastian swung his legs onto the couch, wrapped his overcoat around him and let sleep claim him. He reckoned he couldn’t have been dozing for long when a sharp click sounded nearby. Sebastian swung his legs off the couch and threw out a hand to lever himself to his feet.

  “You’re going nowhere,” a voice said.

  Sebastian swayed and then forced his eyes to focus. Jewel-encrusted teeth flashed at him.

  “You’re alive!” Sebastian said as he faced the real El Duce.

  “I am and you’ve just made up for a bad few weeks.” El Duce aimed his gun at Sebastian. “You’re dressed for a funeral. That’s probably appropriate.”

  Sebastian raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Wait, I came to find you.”

  “You’ve found me. Now die.”

  El Duce disconnected the gun’s safety lock. Sebastian winced and searched for the right push to stop him from pulling the trigger.

  “So he wasn’t on the payroll?” the clone asked. He stood over by the wall.

  Sebastian silently thanked him for the interruption as El Duce snarled.

  “He was, but he worked for me for only six hours before he double-crossed me. So if you’ve come to apologize, Sebastian, do it. Then I can kill you.”

  “I’ve escaped from the penal colony to kill Raphael Dubois,” Sebastian said. “Don’t stop me from killing a man who’s your enemy, too.”

  El Duce pursed his lips, his dull green eyes downcast. He flexed his arm.

  What’s that noise behind you? Sebastian pushed.

  As El Duce turned around, Sebastian threw himself toward the door and slid through it. El Duce fired his gun, the shot smashing into the wall behind him. Outside, Sebastian stumbled headlong down the corridor that was now illuminated by weak early morning light.

  El Duce clattered into the corridor just as Sebastian reached the end. Gunfire ripped out and rents ripped down the door as he threw it aside. He rolled to the floor and on into the storeroom. Sebastian then scampered away until El Duce shouted behind him.

  “Stop, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian slid to a halt ten meters from the exit. He raised his arms and turned around.

  “Let’s do a deal,” Sebastian said as El Duce waved his gun at him, motioning him back inside.

  El Duce didn’t reply as Sebastian padded down the corridor. Inside the quarters, he noticed for the first time that El Duce’s clothes were dirty, his face was drawn and his gaze was no longer piercing.

  El Duce hurled the gun at the wall. The weapon rebounded and clattered along the floor.

  “What’s the point?” El Duce shuffled to a couch and dropped onto it. He drew his legs up to his chin. “Raphael is everywhere.”

  Sebastian gasped. For over a year, he’d run from El Duce and his hired gangsters. Now there was nothing threatening about this hollow shell. He leaned against the wall.

  “Raphael is a conman, nothing more.”

  El Duce hammered a fist against the wall behind him.

  “You’re wrong! He seized control in a day with a set of organized strikes.”

  “Maybe he did, but he makes mistakes. He let me live for a start.”

  El Duce got up and headed to a cabinet in the wall. He withdrew a gun and threw it to Sebastian, who hefted the weapon, feeling the cold metal on his palm. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  El Duce curled his lips. “Once you’re hired, you stay hired, so you can test your theory of how soft he is. He’s in my Plaza Court building.”

  Sebastian checked the charge in his gun. It had enough firepower to kill half of New Vancouver.

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  El Duce flashed jeweled teeth. “I built it last year, as a legitimate business front for my operations. It has three stories with no windows, and solid walls, ceiling
and floor. The only way in is through the front entrance, guarded by forty of his new associates. It’s impregnable.”

  “It can’t be that impregnable, if he seized it from you.”

  Green eyes flashed with a hint of their old brightness.

  “Don’t push me, Sebastian. He owns an army. You have you. Good luck.”

  “Why let me go?” he asked.

  El Duce smiled, his jewels gleaming. “I know what he did to you. I understand revenge and you survived in the penal colony. I don’t know how you did it, but perhaps you’ll find a way to get him.”

  “I only need an edge. Can you help?”

  He formed a new push: Help him.

  El Duce thumped the wall again. Flecks of plaster sprayed around him.

  “All my edges are gone. Raphael owns my empire now. I assume he has the shard and its packs, and that’s all he needs.”

  Tell him about the shard and these packs, Sebastian pushed and sat on the couch.

  “What is the shard Raphael stole off me?” he asked out loud.

  Sebastian massaged his throbbing forehead, as El Duce turned to the clone.

  “Guard the entrance.” El Duce waited until they were alone. “It’s a sub-molecular quantum storage device or some such. Once it’s inside your neck port, it’s big enough to store your consciousness. With the power packs, you can store your mind indefinitely, even after death.”

  “Raphael said it would give him immortality, not just download his thoughts.”

  El Duce walked to the opposite wall. “It’s immortality of a sort. Cryonics freezes bodies, but this shard freezes the mind. Later, the mind can be uploaded into another neck port and so another brain.”

  “I guess I can see why you tried to kill me to get it back.”

  El Duce tapped the wall. “The shard is a prototype made by someone called Professor Kolas. As it’s useless if you can’t upload the consciousness into an available brain, the government stopped his research. Then, with Kolas seeking to make a profit, I spent a fortune smuggling it from New Perth.”