by Eliza Green
The undeveloped land beyond the city boundaries was known in ITF quarters as no man’s land. Officers armed with Buzz Guns and Impulse Tasers patrolled the area day and night. Transport arterial routes swept outwards to connect the six cities. Criminals operated black markets in the area, taking advantage of the shortage of technology on the planet to swindle the desperate and vulnerable. No matter how often the ITF smashed the operating rings, fresh businesses would emerge unscathed in alternative places.
According to one report, it was on such a night that an officer heard an animal sound. The noise had originated inside the border limits, where the biodome animals were strictly forbidden.
Bill opened a video file containing an interview with the ITF officer who had discovered the unusual animal activity near New London’s border. In his haste Bill had skimmed over this video, not finding anything useful to help him understand the Indigenes.
A yawn caught him off guard. The images turned blurry as sleep tugged on his eyelids. He blinked away his tiredness and concentrated on the video.
The officer had been the first to arrive on the scene of some reported trouble. After calling for back-up, he approached the animal alone. Sitting across from the interviewer, the officer held his hand up like a gun.
‘Eyes fixed on me before looking away.’ The officer’s own gaze flicked from the interviewer to a spot on the wall. ‘I heard the animal. It sounded like it was injured. But when I got closer, I couldn’t believe what I saw.’
The interviewer frowned. ‘What was it?’
The officer laughed. ‘Two boys, crouching over what I think was a wolf. The smell of blood turned my stomach. There was so much of it.’
The interviewer leaned forward. ‘So you’re saying they killed the animal. You were right to report this illegality. The biodome animals are protected.’
The officer shook his head, whispering, ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong...’
Bill blinked away his exhaustion a second time. The video he couldn’t focus on continued to play in the background.
What would happen when he got to Earth—would he be fired? Possibly. Would he be reassigned? Even more likely.
His eyes grew too heavy and he shut off the recording. A yawning Bill vowed to find a way to return to Exilon 5 and continue in his search for Isla.
25
Yesterday morning, Laura had put in a call to her mother. It was the anniversary of the death of Laura’s father. Fionnuala O’Halloran wasn’t the easiest person to deal with on the best of days, but his anniversary made her impossible.
Four years after his suicide, her mother was still struggling to cope.
With the existence of termination rooms, death by hanging was a brutal way to die. It was also a novel way, and the event had attracted unwanted attention from the press. Fionnuala still harped on about the embarrassment of seeing the family name in digital print. Laura had found him. It was her name they’d printed. She was over it. But her mother would not let it go.
During their Light Box call, Laura had been forced to listen to Fionnuala’s blame game.
‘You should have stopped him.’
‘I couldn’t—’
‘You should have tried to save him.’
‘I did—’
‘You should have tried harder.’
Laura had not only found her father that day, but also a hysterical Fionnuala curled up in one corner of the room. Her mother had found him first, but the press hadn’t mentioned that. Thanks to Fionnuala’s ability to twist the truth.
There wasn’t much Laura could say to her mother on his anniversary. She would do what she normally did: give her mother a few days to calm down.
No matter how strained their relationship, Laura planned to take her mother to Exilon 5. Perhaps a new planet would kick them both out of their melancholy. When they’d ended yesterday’s conversation on a semi-pleasant note, Laura had decided not to mention her promotion. Fionnuala would only have found something to criticise about it.
After Laura had added her signature to the confidentiality agreement, Suzanne Brett had escorted her to the door leading to Level Five. ‘You’re about to view sensitive information and you must never discuss it. Your work will be continually monitored while you’re at the Centre. Understand?’
She nodded, her pulse thrumming with excitement as Brett opened the door. She peered inside the room to see twenty-four isolation booths facing towards the centre aisle. Twenty-two were occupied. Brett led her down the aisle and deposited her at a vacant booth. Nobody said hello.
‘You can take this one. Someone will contact you shortly. For now, just sit here quietly.’
Those had been Suzanne’s last words before she marched out the door like her backside was on fire. Laura had stared at her blank monitor, unsure of what she was supposed to do. A few hours later, she’d received orders to go home and rest.
The next day, and after her mother’s call, Laura arrived into work with a new attitude and ready to get started. But her excitement about her new promotion waned when lunch came and went without a congratulatory word from her former colleagues, Chris and Janine. Suzanne Brett’s chilling warning the day before reminded her of the confidentiality agreement she’d signed.
‘Listen up, everyone,’ said a short man with black beady eyes who occupied booth ten. ‘Brett says some important files are on their way. We need to process them fast and get them into the central computer.’
Laura flexed her fingers and waited for her monitor to spring to life. She listened to the soft sound of fingers gliding across screens as the others got to work. But two hours later, her screen remained blank and she felt the cabin fever set in.
Bored, she got up and explored the room that was half the size of the one on Level Four. Beyond the twenty-four booths was a water station, a bulletin board that displayed a different motivational quote each day, and a vacuum tube with a sign that read: “Gilchrist’s office”.
The bulletin board message read: We are the sum of our counterparts.
Laura turned her back on the confusing message and walked along the central aisle. A new irritation bloomed in her chest as the bad thoughts she’d kept at bay tried to worm their way in.
Even though her new colleagues on Level Five were ignoring her, she stopped at the first booth.
‘Hey, I’m Laura,’ she said. The woman didn’t look up. Laura moved on to the next booth and rattled out the same line, to no response. She worked through six more people with none showing her any interest.
A voice boomed from behind as she moved away. ‘Hey! New girl.’
Laura turned. The man from booth ten stood and motioned her over. Reluctantly, she went.
‘Since you are clearly unfamiliar with the way this place operates, let me enlighten you,’ he said. She looked around. The other workers ignored their interaction. ‘Don’t bother getting to know anyone here. Nobody is interested in you or your story. Have you been briefed yet?’
Laura nodded.
‘They are serious when it comes to this floor. You will be monitored like they said, and if you have to take breaks, make sure they’re sanctioned ones.’
Laura could do with a break right now.
He continued. ‘The information we see is extremely confidential and highly sensitive. What we learn puts a target on our backs. And your worst enemies are the people in his room.’
Her lips parted. Her eyes grazed the heads in the room. Nobody was laughing.
Laura attempted to lighten the heavy mood. ‘Picking on the new girl. Ha ha. Very funny.’
The man glowered at her. ‘I’m just like you. I came from another floor, but I’ve learned to survive here. When you stepped through that door, your old life ceased to exist. So, honey? Learn the rules fast.’
‘What rules? Are there more I should know about?’ Laura had no idea what her job even was.
‘You’ve got brains? Figure it out. But know this, they’re always watching. So instead of bothering every
one, return to your booth like a good girl and wait until they send your work programme to your monitor.’
The man broke off his stare and sat down.
Who was watching, Gilchrist? Laura stumbled back to her booth and her chair. Her racing heart, aggravated by the man’s words, refused to settle.
While Brett had warned her already, this new advice only confirmed the warning.
Her stomach growled just as her monitor sprung into life.
Finally.
She put aside her reservations about Level Five and read to herself the instructions that appeared on her monitor:
Worker. Welcome to the High Level Data Storage Facility.
The information stored here is confidential. When the high-level files are decrypted upon arrival at the Security Centre, the outward tagging system, that indicates the level of security on the file, is stripped.
This is done to prevent the supercomputer from automatically storing the file in the central database, which requires twenty-four hours notice for retrieval. It is an automatic security measure for all files with clearance levels of Five and above.
The Level Five and higher files sent to this location require investigation by the Data Analysis Unit on Level Six, before they are sent for storage to the central database on Nine. All files of this nature must be accessible at any time, day or night.
You must process each file as it comes into the waiting area. The security level is printed in the file. You must re-tag each one before a new encryption code is embedded. If you receive Level Six files by mistake, please redirect to booth sixteen immediately. Or you can create a blind copy of the information using one of the spare discs and deposit it into the vacuum tube on the wall.
You must never discuss the sensitive contents with a rank lower than yours. Please place your right thumb at the bottom of the screen before continuing.
Laura blinked back tears. ‘What the hell...?’ A separate message flashed up asking for confirmation before she could continue. She complied. The screen flipped over to a pooled list of waiting files.
The list looked remarkably similar to the same work she’d been doing on Level Four. She hadn’t endured three years of hell to wind up in the same place as before. Not even the purple uniform and extra accolade could make up for this move.
Her lips trembled as she sucked in new air. Her anger that refused to settle... she buried it deep, deep down. Away from her long-term plans to transfer to Exilon 5.
Gilchrist had noticed her. She had to find some way to use that attention to her advantage.
Scooting the chair closer to the desk, Laura focused on the monitor before her. Some files disappeared from view. Booth numbers flashed up beside random files, as they were processed: sixteen, nine, eighteen.
But despite her new confidence, she couldn’t muster up enough interest to do a job the super computer could do better. A lesson in character building. That’s what Chris had called their jobs.
Maybe she should just go back to Level Four. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t. They had her locked in through contractual agreements. Through blurred vision, she opened the first file that hadn’t already been claimed by another booth.
Another three years of doing this work? ‘Give it a chance, Laura. You haven’t even started and already you’re quitting.’ Her crazy moods said she wouldn’t make it.
It was a memo from the World Government to Head of Operations, Suzanne Brett, about a staff member at the Centre. It read:
Dear Ms Brett,
A member of your staff has leaked confidential information to a person or persons outside the Centre about the status of various bank accounts and their details, presumably to access the funds.
This matter was brought to our attention by our insider, who had been offered the information in return for stolen goods. We will allow you to deal with this staff member.
However, if storage-bound information is leaked again, we will take the appropriate measures.
Sincerely,
Tom Billings
Overseer for Security Matters
World Government
She noted the clearance level at the top of the document—Five—and closed the file. Then she tagged it and ran it through the re-encryption program placed as a shortcut on her monitor.
She picked another random document marked as confidential. It was another memo from the World Government to Suzanne Brett.
Dear Ms Brett,
We have reports that one of your workers may have accessed certain security areas within the Centre during the recent temporary power outage. The rooms were unsecured at the time and recorded nothing more than a bio signature to indicate someone had been there. Their identity is unknown.
Find the worker responsible and deliver them to us.
Sincerely,
Tom Billings
Overseer for Security Matters
World Government
It was marked with that day’s date and had been sent within the last ten minutes. ‘Don’t piss off the World Government, got it.’
She tagged it as Level Five and ran it through the re-encryption file, same as the last one.
Only five minutes had passed and already Laura was getting antsy about her new role.
The ESC had trapped her. Worse, she’d allowed it to happen.
26
It had been a week since Jenny’s meeting with Gilchrist’s assistant, where he told her she was on review. Jenny had ignored Stuart’s offer to get lunch after. Despite several calls from Stuart asking how the meeting went, and offering another apology about making her late, she still hadn’t gotten back to him.
The latest report, delivered a few days, ago sat open on her DPad. It contained an official warning about her time delay last week and a new one, citing her lack of judgment to keep the autopilot on. She wore a new pattern in the carpet of her apartment, wondering if Gilchrist had added the extra warning.
But the addendum, ‘Three strikes and you’re out,’ rattled her the most. She popped her thumb out of her mouth where she’d been chewing on it. Stopping the ESC from firing her seemed like an impossible task now. Jenny cost too much and someone higher up than Gilchrist wanted her to know it.
Her scheduled trip to Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta went off without a hitch. She even arrived early with one minute to spare. The attendant didn’t look happy about it as he recorded her latest cargo.
Jenny exited the hold and headed to the HJA’s cafeteria. Her growling stomach flipped her thoughts over to food. She didn’t like to eat much while flying, not when her stomach lurched after each flight. But she’d eaten little over the last twenty-four hours for another reason. Her nerves before this flight—and probably every one, going forward—were all over the place.
She arrived at one of HJA’s four self-service canteens, nestled in the eastern part of the station. The long room with enough space for eight hundred seated workers was divided up into several rows of black tables and white chairs. Jenny grabbed a tray and joined the shortest queue for dozens of silver-and-black replication machines set along one wall.
Her order to the machine kept growing: beans on toast, with a side order of sausage, a chicken pot pie, two black coffees and three pieces of chocolate cake. She could eat twice that amount and it wouldn’t matter; all replicator food was calorie controlled. Finding a quiet spot, she slumped into a seat. Her hectic flying schedule, plus her efforts to stay off Gilchrist’s list, was killing her. Other pilots used Actigen to stay awake, but it made Jenny nauseous to take it.
She barely paused between bites, wolfing down just enough food to satiate her. She sipped on her coffee, hoping it would give her a boost of energy to finish her shift. One last run to Sydney then she could sleep. At least the journey from Sydney to Brisbane and her riverfront apartment would take only forty minutes by high-speed Maglev train. There, she would put her eight hours off to good use and banish all thoughts of warnings, strikes and infractions.
Stuart
sauntered into the canteen and she felt last week’s irritation with him return, but with food in her stomach it didn’t feel as venomous. The man with chestnut-brown hair, blue eyes, and a face no genetic manipulation clinic had touched, spotted her and made his way over. Jenny had no such reservations about using the Glamour package. It had turned back her looks by twenty years. Sometimes a girl needed a little help.
She and Stuart went way back to when they’d both worked as controllers in the docking station at Auckland, New Zealand. After a divorce and raising her only child, Jenny had enlisted at the Air and Space Control Academy to pursue her passion for flying. At fifty-five, she began her training as a pilot, after having completed just four years as a controller. Stuart had stayed put, eventually being offered the role of Operations Overseer in Auckland. He’d worked in HJA for nearly ten years now.
She glanced up as Stuart reached the table. ‘I see you found me then.’
‘Not hard in this place,’ he said, holding up both thumbs where their chips—both identity and security—were located. ‘Our very own tracking devices.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘What happened to you last week? I thought we were doing lunch?’
Jenny brushed her fingers across the nape of her neck. ‘I didn’t feel like chatting. I’m still pissed off with you, by the way. ’
