Transilience

by Kevin Bragg

  I jumped off near Tireman, swung by my office. From my perch on the corner of Pam’s desk, I updated her on my day.

  ‘Do you believe Mr Porter killed Luther Dwerry?’ she asked when I had finished.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. The obvious answer is yes. However, I can’t imagine why he’d risk it. He’d have to know he’d be a suspect given the fact that Dwerry had just been arrested for stealing from him.’

  ‘If he did have Mr Dwerry killed, do you think Detective Ashdown will find evidence that leads to Porter’s involvement?’

  I dropped my trilby on my knee. ‘He didn’t seem too sure when I left but the accident only just happened. Something might turn up, but I’d be surprised.’

  ‘Perhaps his ego forced him into a reckless action.’

  ‘I don’t see it, Pam. Porter is definitely an arrogant bastard but killing Dwerry days after he’d been released is too careless.’

  ‘Thus far it has achieved a desirable end.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘Ms Voss is leaving Mars of her own volition—’

  ‘I’m certain this isn’t because of her own volition,’ I cut in. Pam glared. She hated being interrupted.

  ‘Of her professed own volition, then. Alvin Cooper cannot be found. And, Luther Dwerry’s death served two purposes. One, he no longer poses a threat to Mr Porter. Two, the fear that they might be next has probably contributed to Ms Voss’s willingness to leave the planet and Mr Cooper’s disappearance.’

  ‘Cooper might be dead in a cave somewhere outside the domes for all we know.’

  ‘Unlikely. Discovery of the body would throw even more suspicion on Porter.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘My guess is that he used his IT talents to sneak out of his apartment and secure passage off Mars. Possibly to Earth, where he could vanish into the teeming mass of humanity who call that planet “home”.’ She said that last part with a tinge of revulsion. Such a strange robot.

  ‘Well it doesn’t really matter now. It’s out of our hands.’

  Pam started to respond but checked herself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’ To ensure I didn’t persist, she started typing the notes of our conversation on her keyboard at a furious pace.

  ‘Easy or I’ll have to replace that keyboard by the day’s end.’

  She didn’t stop.

  I hopped off her desk and made for the entrance.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked over the sound of rattling keys.

  I held the door open but looked back at my assistant, who did not look at me.

  ‘To pick up a car and watch MARA Corporation. Maybe something will happen with that case. Maybe not, but it’s the only play I have at the moment.’

  ‘Be careful.’

  ‘It’s just sitting in a car.’

  Her expression darkened a split second and the chatter from her keyboard stopped.

  ‘My concern for your safety still holds. Probability dictates that she will try to kill you at some point.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’ Unease crept up my spine. ‘You have such a way with words.’

  ‘Just be careful, sir.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. If it helps, I’ll check in at the end of the day.’

  I caught the door before it closed and poked my head back into the office. ‘I nearly forgot! Arrange a meeting with Porter for Wednesday. Tell him we need to talk and that he should have my credits ready.’

  She replied with a ‘yes, sir’ and more typing.

  *

  As I drove Theo’s LTI from the CD to RD1, Pam’s parting comments hung in the air and led to uncomfortable questions.

  Would Kitterman try to kill me?

  A fleeting image of Nolan Kitterman and two visits from Mara in as many days had to do. He could have done the job but didn’t. However, I had no idea what his purpose was in this story.

  And the concerned look on Pam’s face a few minutes ago. What was that all about?

  The unsettling realisation that I was the only loose end in the HTS case hit me. Dwerry was dead. Accident or otherwise. Voss had been turned. Cooper had vanished. That left me. Pam wanted to say something to this effect but didn’t. Another question.

  New London began to feel very small. I gripped the wheel and hit the accelerator.

  The rearview and side cameras revealed nothing but my anxiety. Still, it felt good to zip through town. The cab handled like a brand new car and the seats had enough padding to make sitting on my ass for stretches at a time not too unpleasant a prospect. By the time I hit the heart of downtown, my nerves settled down. I needed to be smart, not scared. If I could do that, I’d be okay.

  After cruising around RD1 and the four streets framing MARA Corporation for a couple of hours, I started to get a sense for the rhythms of the district. I soon found a few places where I could stop with a good view of the main entrance.

  Tiny cameras installed on the roof by the ‘New London Taxi’ sign, plus the cameras that came as standard equipment, gave me nearly 360 coverage from inside the car. The video feeds filled small boxes on the left and right side of my MIX12 screen. I sat parked kerbside with baseball highlights taking up the centre of the area of my tablet, ignoring the world outside as much as possible. The duffle bag with my super-suit lay on the front passenger floorboard. I kept the NEEDLE in a shoulder holster, hidden by the same jacket I wore to Cooper’s place. In fact, as I took a quick glance in the mirror, my ‘taxi driver’ disguise looked a lot like my ‘pizza delivery guy’ disguise.

  I hung around, fending off potential fares and trying to keep my movements as random as possible. About 10 minutes past 11pm, an all too familiar Baker Electric rolled through MARA Corp’s security checkpoint and hung a left. I followed until I knew it was heading towards Res 1. A return to her robot empire confirmed little to no activity.

  *

  Between Monday and Wednesday, I’d gotten pretty good at sitting in a car and moving around just enough to keep New Londoners out of my taxi. The benefit of a few days of inactivity was that I started to heal. Bruises became less tender and I could breathe easier with each passing day.

  Somewhere in all of that, Porter and I agreed to meet at HTS on Wednesday afternoon. At 4.30am, I left RD1 through the north tunnel connecting it to Research District 2 and prayed for nothing to happen at MARA Corp in my absence.

  When I arrived at HTS, I told the tasty dish behind the counter I had an appointment with Porter. A few minutes later he stepped out the elevator and motioned for me to follow him. Like an obedient child, I did as instructed.

  He stopped in front of a glass display with a model of a mag-lev train racing around a round track with a map of Europe in the centre. I sidled up beside Porter and watched as the train made circuit after circuit. Going nowhere. Every minute of every day.

  ‘Did you know that this model is a replica of our very first project, Mr Helmqvist?’ he asked, also staring at it.

  I could see the reflection in the glass of me shaking my head. ‘I didn’t.’ I didn’t really care, either, but I let it stand at that.

  ‘A high-speed rail system from London to Rome and all points Continental. The network spread like a spider’s web and our superconductors made fast, safe travel to virtually any major city in Europe possible. From there, HTS expanded to become the galactic success that it is today.’

  The motion of the train was hypnotic. ‘HTS got its hands pretty dirty along the way.’

  ‘Humph. All organisations of importance have skeletons in their closet. It’s the price of doing business. The key is to ensure that either no one opens the door to that closet, or they cannot even find it in the first place. My complacency nearly cost us a great deal. A mistake I will not make in the future.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t press charges on Voss, Cooper and Dwerry? To ensure your secrets remained secret? To control the situation as much as possible?’

  ‘I couldn’t be certain your tactics would survive
an investigation, Mr Helmqvist. No offence to your ability, but I could not risk it. I do believe I was quite clear in the beginning that this was never about the money. It was about controlling information. Any quibbling I may have done about money was merely posturing. Others need to believe it is about money and nothing else.’

  ‘I know your secret too. Does that make me a liability? Am I due for an accident?’

  His laugh seemed forced to me and he turned his head to look at me for the first time. ‘Don’t be preposterous, you came highly recommended to me by a friend. In fact, you are one of the few people I trust with this secret.’

  I noticed he neither confirmed nor denied any involvement in Dwerry’s death, but I let that slide too. ‘I’ll remember to pass my gratitude along to Han the next time I see him.’ The DA and I had fallen out of contact soon after I left his office. It’s why his vouching for me seemed so strange.

  Porter turned to face me. I followed suit. ‘Right. Well, you held up your end of the bargain. I believe all that is left to conclude our business is your fee. If you could provide me with a routing number, I can deposit the funds into your account at this very moment.’

  He produced a mini MIX5 from his breast pocket, and I provided a routing number to my business account. He pecked away on the touchscreen with a stylus. ‘Done and done,’ he announced after a few seconds.

  I pulled up my account on my MAX smartwatch. The balance increased by 30 grand. ‘You’ve overpaid,’ I said as I looked from the watch to him.

  ‘Nonsense, Mr Helmqvist. You have done HTS and myself a great service. Consider it a bonus based on performance.’

  In other words, a bribe. Unlike Kitterman’s earlier, I decided I didn’t mind taking this one.

  Porter extended his hand. I hesitated a second before shaking it.

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Helmqvist.’

  ‘Yeah. See you around, Porter.’

  Walking back down the carpet and through the set of glass double doors felt like an escape. Like I had just cheated death.

  25

  With the HTS case closed, the growing sense of dread began to lessen. With that passage of time, the pain in my ribs began to subside, as well. It allowed me to log a few hours of FE9 training before I turned in for the night. The LTI worked fine for surveillance but the rooftops would be better. I could actually see over the wall and risk a peek through the skylight of the R&D building. In my week on the ground, I could see light streaming out of it every night until 11pm. Roughly 15 minutes later, Kitterman’s limo would pull out onto Corporation North.

  The alley behind my apartment made the perfect spot to practise. Jumps, drops, thrusts, honing my balance for the use of the lev units in the boots. I worked at it until fatigue made me reckless. By the end of that week, I had a better understanding of how the suit functioned. I wouldn’t say I was ready to take my act pro or anything. But, at least I felt like I could avoid any more disasters like that first night.

  After that, I split my time. During daylight hours, I prowled the area in my cab. However, when the sun went down, I made a quick change and took to the world above the streets. Despite my comfort level rising in the FE9, the first jump from one building to the next sent the butterflies in my gut into a tizzy. My confidence increased, however, with each jump, landing and slide.

  All the while, I pushed aside thoughts about what the hell I had hoped to accomplish. I had no reason to believe the storage device still existed or that Nolan Kitterman was anything more than a figment of my imagination. But I had no other course of action. So I persisted.

  A couple of days into my new routine, I decided to get a look through Mara’s skylight. I could have made the jump from several places but went from the same alley I did over a week ago. I have no idea why I picked it. Perhaps to compare how far I’d come along.

  Tucked behind the corner of a building, I bolted across the street, arced over the wall with a quick burst from the jetpack, touched down for a split second and launched myself upwards. I landed with all the grace of a sparrow on a telephone wire.

  The success of my jump filled me with all kinds of misplaced optimism. My heart raced with excitement and I stole over to the rooftop window. I expected to find Mara and Nolan huddled over a table, the video plans of the UN attack streaming on a holo-display. Father and daughter teetering with maniacal glee. Instead, what I got was a glimpse of Mara leaving a large, open workshop and the lights going out. An infrared scan revealed nothing.

  If I had given up at that very moment, I’d like to think I wouldn’t be judged too harshly. That no one would call me a quitter. Fortunately, I returned the next night and was rewarded for my efforts.

  When I peered down through the skylight, a butt naked, and very much alive – for lack of a better term – Charlotte Rennick stood in front of Kitterman. By her precise movements and head gestures that followed Kitterman’s hands, she must have been going through some diagnostic tests. Seeing her filled me with renewed optimism. Whether or not she remembered me, I hadn’t lost a client. A silly notion perhaps. But in many ways, it validated these last few days.

  *

  Two days later, vigilance rewarded me in a big way.

  Mara Kitterman worked alone on something I couldn’t make out because her body blocked it from view. Suddenly, she looked up and over to a specific place. Someone had entered the lab.

  A moment later, Nolan Kitterman stepped into view. He wore a familiar-looking bomber jacket and flat cap. I gripped the edge of the skylight. My heart pounded as adrenaline coursed through my every muscle. The moment had come.

  I circled the skylight to try to grab a couple of screen shots with my visor. His hat prevented me from getting portrait perfect images. However, they were better than nothing – so long as you accepted the fact that the person in the images had returned from the grave.

  Jumping through the skylight, interrupting their scene and yelling ‘gotcha’ didn’t strike me as a very good plan. In all likelihood, Papa Kitterman would kick my ass again and Mara would have me dead to rights.

  Fortunately, Nolan made the choice for me. He gave Mara a warm, paternal hug. She handed him a device that looked very similar to the one that I had lifted from her office. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket, and grabbed a satchel from off the workspace. They exchanged goodbyes, and he disappeared stage right. I ran in the same direction to the edge of the roof and waited. Sure enough, Nolan Kitterman stepped out into the night and headed for a service entrance door in the east wall of the complex.

  Once through, he turned right and made his way towards Franklin. When he had gone far enough, I made a double jump to clear the wall. Another quick boost sent me up onto a nearby building.

  ‘Call Pam,’ I whispered into headgear.

  She picked up on the third ring. ‘Good evening, sir.’

  ‘Pam! I have eyes on Nolan Kitterman. He’s in RD1 on Franklin. Can you access the street cameras and follow him?’

  ‘One second to power up my computer. Okay, I have him on my screen now. Black coat and cap. That is him, correct?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s Kitterman. Tell me where he’s going. I need to stop by my car and lose some of this gear.’

  ‘Very well, sir. I shall notify you of his every move.’

  I retraced my steps to my taxi and dropped down into a nearby alley. I tucked the gloves and helmet into the FE9’s backpack and ran to my car for a quick back-seat change. I wiggled into my jeans and shirt over the suit. I hopped out, threw my jacket on, pocketed my NEEDLE and locked the backpack in the LTI’s trunk. Pam’s uninflected voice came over my earwig right as I hit the lock button on the car’s fob.

  ‘Kitterman has just entered the Franklin Street Underground station.’

  ‘Gotcha. Thanks, Pam.’ I had some ground to cover. I broke into a sprint. ‘How long until the next train?’ I called out in laboured breaths.

  ‘Four minutes.’

  That should give me enough time.

  *
>
  Caution demanded that I stop and take a quick survey of the street level as I neared the entrance to the station. No sign of Kitterman. I raced down the steps with the urgency of a man late for work.

  The stop at Franklin only had one platform. And while that’s great and all, if I didn’t see which direction he was going to use, I had a 50/50 chance of getting on the wrong train. Pam could probably tell me, but we could only push our luck so far with hacking city cameras before getting caught. If I missed him, or picked the wrong train, then fine. She can help. However, for the moment, doing it the old-fashioned way seemed like the safest option.

  I paid at the turnstile and walked hurriedly towards the platform. I peeked around the corner and spotted Kitterman a few metres ahead of me.

  If he noticed that anyone was tailing him, he didn’t let on. He stood on the platform between the two mag-lev lines like a man without a care in the world. It seemed strange that he didn’t try to hide his appearance but then I doubted that anyone would recognise him. People don’t expect to see ghosts waiting beside them for the next subway train to arrive. I imagine that to them he looked like a 50-year-old man doing whatever middle-aged people do at this time of night.

  I ducked behind one of the pillared arches that helped support the tunnel and separate one direction from the other. When the train arrived, I snuck into the car one down from his. I was close to him but not too close. Thirty seconds later, the train doors shut and we trundled off towards the IM by way of Res 3.

  Voice command kept getting ‘Call Ashdown’ wrong. I had to scroll through my contacts to find his number. He answered on the back end of a yawn.

  ‘Ash. This is Helmqvist.’

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’

  ‘Of course I do. Look, I don’t have a lot of time. I have Nolan Kitterman in my sights. We are on the F Line from RD1 to the IM. Can you meet me here?’