“And where,” he demanded in a nasal whine, “do you think you’re going?”
Brian contemplated a number of options, then decided on the truth. “I’m returning this girl to her parents,” he said, firmly. He had no intention of telling the whole truth, if it could be avoided. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a replacement.”
The piggish man glowered at him. Brian heard Abigail whimper and felt a flicker of annoyance, mixed with anger. The bartender probably would be intimidating to someone without combat training. Brian had met worse people in military bars near Catterick, back during his probationary period. Wrestling half-drunk squaddies wasn't a sport for the faint of heart. But the bartender was nowhere near as tough. Brian would have bet good money the bastard simply couldn't move very fast without toppling over and hitting the ground.
“She owes me money,” the bartender said, finally. “Seven thousand credits, counting interest.”
Brian did the calculation in his head. Seven thousand Luna Credits was roughly five thousand pounds. He rolled his eyes at the conceit. He had no idea how much debt Abigail might have incurred, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t that high. Her outfit probably wouldn't cost more than fifty pounds at the local store.
“I rather doubt it,” he said, sharply. He removed a card from his pocket and held it out. “If you have a genuine claim, submit it to this address. I’ll see to it that your claim is taken into consideration.”
The piggy man’s glare grew darker. “I’ll take it out of your hide,” he said, cracking his fists loudly. “I won’t let anyone steal from me ...”
Brian briefly considered drawing his shockrod and jamming it into the man’s groin. The screaming alone would deter anyone from following them, at least long enough for Brian and Abigail to put some distance between themselves and the bar. But it would also draw a great deal of attention. He didn't want to have to deal with that.
He leaned forward, instead. “The girl’s fifteen,” he said. “Do you really want to argue it with the Management?”
There was a long pause. Brian tensed, bracing himself for an attack. Sin City did have a strict age limit. The bartender would be in deep shit if he were caught violating it, even if Abigail’s papers had passed muster. The smart thing to do would be to let the matter - and Abigail - go, but Brian didn't dare count on the man being that smart. He’d either not noticed Abigail’s age or chosen to ignore it.
“I’ll send a bill,” the man warned. “And I expect it paid at once.”
Brian shrugged. “Come on,” he said, to Abigail. “We have to go.”
He led her out of the bar and down the corridor. Abigail followed, her eyes flickering from side to side as if she expected an attack at any moment. Brian had seen prisoners - freshly released from jail - showing the same reaction. Prisons were meant to be safe, but somehow vast numbers of weapons and illegal drugs were smuggled past the guards. A prisoner who couldn't stand up for herself was in deep shit.
“Thank you,” Abigail said, softly. “I ...”
Brian looked her up and down. “What happened?”
Abigail swallowed, hard. “Is Terry in trouble?”
“I imagine he’s been grounded for a few decades,” Brian said, dryly. He had no idea what Abigail’s parents had done to her friend, but he doubted it was anything pleasant. God knew Terry’s parents would be pissed too. “What happened to you?”
“I thought no one could follow me if I came here,” Abigail said. “I ... I didn't think to take any money. I ... I trusted the wrong people. They ... they told me I had to work, or else ... or else they’d hurt me and ... they didn't listen to me.”
“I imagine they wouldn't,” Brian said. He thought, fast. There would be a medical centre nearby. He could have Abigail checked for any immediate problems before they boarded a train to Luna City. But he wanted to get her out as quickly as possible. The bartender probably had friends. “Are you in pain now?”
Abigail shook her head. “Just ... just scared.”
“We’ll get you out of here in a jiffy,” Brian told her. He studied her for a long moment. She didn't seem to be hurt, as far as he could tell. But she was shaking ... it looked as though she was torn between clinging to him and running as fast as she could. “And then you can go home.”
“My parents will kill me,” Abigail said, as they resumed their walk. “Are they ... are they really mad?”
“They’re not pleased,” Brian said. They reached the stairwell and started heading up. “But I think they’re more shocked than angry.”
“That’ll change,” Abigail predicted, darkly. “They never listen to me.”
“A common complaint,” Brian said. “I ...”
He broke off as the alarms started to howl. Abigail caught his arm, her entire body trembling like a leaf. Brian reached for his shockrod, then stopped himself. That wasn't the intruder alert siren, he thought. It was the emergency alert.
“ATTENTION,” a voice blared. “THIS IS AN EMERGENCY SITUATION. ALL GUESTS ARE ADVISED TO MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE NEAREST SHELTER AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. I SAY AGAIN, ALL GUESTS ARE ADVISED TO MAKE THEIR WAY TO THE NEAREST SHELTER AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE.”
Brian blanched. An attack? There was a war on - he knew there was a war on - but he hadn't really expected an attack on Sol itself. Perhaps the war had been going badly, worse than the media claimed. God knew no one in their right mind would take any government’s word for granted. And an attack meant that Luna might be attacked. Sin City might be attacked. Or it might be something as simple as an air leak. Better to assume the worst ...
He caught Abigail’s hand. “We have to go to the nearest shelter,” he said. The tube network would already be shutting down, if he recalled correctly. There was no way to leave Sin City without it, unless they rented a shuttle. “And then we wait.”
Abigail glanced back down the stairs. “What about ... what about them?”
“Right now, we have other problems,” Brian said. He led her down the corridor. A handful of other guests were making their way to the shelters, but most seemed determined to remain in the casinos. Some of them were even arguing with the staff. Brian understood their logic - they thought that a major attack on Sin City would kill everyone, in or out of the shelters - but he didn't agree with it. If there was an attack, they had to do everything they could to stack the odds in favour of survival.
Which won’t help a bit if someone nukes the place, he thought, as they reached the shelter hatch. It looked grim inside, as grim and desolate as an airport passenger lounge. The handful of inhabitants looked scared. We’ll be dead before we know what hit us.
He kept that thought to himself as he found a seat. There was no point in scaring Abigail.
She looked at him. “How long do we have to stay here?”
“As long as it takes,” Brian said. He drew his terminal from his belt and opened it, trying to access the local datanet. “Get some sleep. It might be quite some time.”
Chapter Seven
Ward Mansion, Penzance, United Kingdom
Molly stumbled into the bathroom and bent over the washbasin, feeling sick.
She hadn't really expected the party to be quite so ... intense. They’d been late, largely because Garrison had been intent on showing her that he was still in good shape for an older man, but that wasn't the problem. She’d had a chance to clean her dress and redo her makeup before going onto the dance floor. The real problem was the number of young and beautiful people she’d met at the party. Indeed, women had outnumbered men two to one. She couldn't help thinking that Garrison had been attracted to quite a few of them.
It isn't fair, she thought, bitterly. It just isn't fair.
She swallowed, hard. She’d been to quite a few formal parties since they’d come into money, but this was different. She felt terribly out of place. The chatter was all about people and places she didn't know - and would probably never know - while the food and drink were utterly unfamiliar. She was tempt
ed to think that Garrison was probably playing a joke on her, when he’d told her that Lady Penelope’s food was to die for. Her stomach churned, mocking her. Expensive food just didn't agree with her, it seemed.
The dress felt clammy against her skin, despite the promises in the brochure. Perhaps there was something in the air ... or perhaps it was just her sweat. She looked down at her hands, remembering what she’d been doing before they reached the hall. Did everyone know what she’d been doing? She couldn't help feeling that everyone was laughing at her, behind her back. She didn't know how to talk to the upper crust, she didn't know how to dance, she didn't even know how to fake it ... what was she, really? What did she have that the younger girls didn’t have?
No one had been rude to her, openly. No one had cut her dead on the dance floor. But they knew she wasn't one of them. They’d watched her muff the dances and make a fool of herself ... God knew what Garrison thought, damn the man. Perhaps he was already planning to make her take a taxi home while he went off with one of the younger girls. Could she even get a taxi all the way to Woking? She wasn't sure. It was already far too late to guarantee finding a driver ...
She forced herself to think. Perhaps she could just go. It wasn't as if she needed anything beyond her bag and coat. She could call a taxi ... she might have to spend more money than she cared to think about, but she could just go. And then ... she looked down at the sink, fighting the urge to retch. All of her dreams would turn to powder if she just abandoned Garrison and Lady Penelope.
And Kurt will be furious, she thought, bitterly. Why hadn't he been the sort of man she wanted? She’d certainly thought he had good prospects, back when they’d married. But he wasn't inclined to spend money on parties and fancy dresses and ... she swallowed, again, as her gorge rose in her throat. What the hell am I doing?
Her smartphone bleeped, loudly. Molly cursed, almost stumbling as she reached for the wretched device. She’d drunk far too much, part of her mind noted. She wasn't thinking clearly. There weren't many people who had her number, which meant ... Gayle? Or one of the kids? Or ... or Garrison? Perhaps he thought she was taking too long in the bathroom. She opened the phone and stared at the display. A red message was blinking on the screen.
Molly stared down at it. EMERGENCY ALERT. EMERGENCY ALERT. ENEMY FORCES HAVE ENTERED THE SOLAR SYSTEM. ALL CIVILIANS ARE ORDERED TO ...
Her mind spun as she read the entire message. The solar system was under attack ... it was impossible. Wasn't it? The war was thousands of light years away, right? She swallowed, hard, as the news sunk in. The solar system was under attack and she was over four hundred kilometres from her children. She flicked through the rest of the message, cursing under her breath. Civilians were ordered to remain where they were and await further instructions.
She clicked the phone, trying to call Gayle. But nothing happened. There was no signal, something she’d been told was impossible. Britain had the most advanced datanet in the world and yet ... and yet there was no signal. Had the aliens already taken it down? Or ... she cursed, again, as she realised the truth. The government had probably taken the network down, just to make sure the civilians couldn’t jam up the system. Or to keep them from spreading panic ...
Molly checked her appearance in the mirror, then hurried back outside. The dancing seemed to have come to a sudden end, with half the dancers streaming through the doors and down towards the car park. The others were milling around in confusion, muttering to each other as they checked their smartphones time and time again. It wasn't a joke, Molly noted as she searched for Garrison. The planet really was under attack. She heard the sound of cars moving out of the parking lot and glanced through the doors, just in time to see a string of fancy cars leaving the hall. No doubt the drivers believed the curfew didn't apply to them.
I have to get back to the kids, she thought, grimly. I can't afford to follow the curfew either.
Garrison was standing next to two men she didn't recognise, chatting with them. He’d warned her never to interrupt a private discussion, but this was important. One of the men huffed in annoyance as she caught his attention, while the other looked oddly relieved. Molly made a mental note to work out what that meant later, if she ever cared enough to do it. She had other problems at the moment.
“This had better be important,” Garrison said. He sounded irked. “I was on the verge of closing a very important deal.”
Molly swallowed a number of very nasty remarks as she held out her smartphone. The emergency alert was still on top, blinking constantly. No doubt the government could update her at any moment, if it wished to do so. God knew she got enough messages from people she didn't know, trying to sell her shit she didn't want. Garrison lifted his eyebrows as he read the message, then shrugged.
“We’ll have to stay here,” he said, calmly. “We’ve been ordered to stay off the roads.”
“I need to get back to the children,” Molly snapped. She fought down the urge to slap him, hard. “Take me back.”
“There’ll be a room for you here, if you want it,” Garrison said. He sounded faintly bored, as if the fate of Molly’s children didn't bother him. It probably didn’t. “You can stay until the all-clear is sounded.”
Molly clenched her fists. “And how long will that be?”
“I have no idea,” Garrison said. “But if you can’t go on the roads, how do you expect to go home?”
“Give me the keys,” Molly said. “I’ll drive myself home.”
“You need me,” Garrison said. “The car won’t accept any other driver.”
“Then take me home,” Molly snapped. “Now!”
“You are in no position to make demands,” Garrison observed. He turned, surveying the handful of people who’d remained in the hall. “I do not ...”
Molly leaned forward and caught his arm. “You are going to take me home,” she snarled, angrily. God! Was this what he was really like? Or was he panicking on the inside, just like her? She found it hard to care. The asshole clearly didn't give a damn about her. Perhaps he’d just brought her to the party to humiliate her. He’d certainly indulged his pleasures on the trip to Penzance. “Now!”
Anger gave her strength. She dragged him down towards the doors, holding him tightly. He was probably stronger than her, normally, but she was a mother ... a stab of guilt tore through her heart as she realised just how blatantly she’d abandoned her children. Gayle would be with them, but Gayle wasn't much older than her charges. She certainly didn't know how to take care of them for more than a day or two. Did she even know where the food was hidden, under the stairs? Molly couldn't remember if Percy knew.
The cold air snapped at her as they walked down to the car park. She looked up, half-expecting to see a giant invasion fleet high above her, but there was nothing. The lights she knew to be space habitats and industrial stations were still there, twinkling faintly against the night sky. Kurt had told her, once, that the stars shone constantly in space, but she hadn't believed him. Now ... now she didn't know what she believed.
“This is completely ridiculous,” Garrison said. “Do you know how hard it will be to reach Woking?”
“I don’t care,” Molly snarled. In the distance, she could hear the sound of helicopters. She told herself, firmly, that they were human helicopters. But that proved nothing ... did it? She couldn’t help remembering a handful of alien invasion movies where the aliens had taken over innocent humans and turned them into living weapons. “We are going to Woking.”
Garrison opened the car door and pressed his hand against the sensor. It should have turned green as the engine came to life. Instead, a red alert blinked up on the dashboard. Molly read it, torn between the urge to start crying and a madcap desire to giggle like a schoolgirl. GPS OFFLINE, it read. CAR NAVIGATION SYSTEM DISABLED.
“Start it up,” she snapped. “Now!”
“I can't,” Garrison said. She thought she heard a hint of panic in his voice. “I don't know how!”
Molly
stared at him. “You bought an expensive car you don't know how to drive?”
“The computer does the driving,” Garrison insisted. “It’s just ... it’s just been disabled!”
“... Fuck,” Molly said. All of a sudden, she understood precisely why Kurt had refused to buy a self-driving car. Garrison had spent shitloads of money on a car that could be remotely disabled. She couldn't keep a giggle from escaping her lips, despite the situation. Garrison’s car was now nothing more than an oddly-shaped piece of metal. “You ... you spent all that money on a useless car?”
“It isn't funny,” Garrison snapped. It didn't sound as though he liked her mockery. Most men disliked being mocked. “Think of everyone who was on the road!”
Molly leaned against the car door, staring up into the night sky. He was right. If a car could be remotely disabled, everyone unlucky enough to be on the road might have had their trip brought to a sudden end. She had a vision of countless cars stopped on the motorway, unable to proceed to their destination. And yet ... surely that would block the roads. She doubted the government would want to disrupt the motorways that much.
The Longest Day (Ark Royal X) Page 7
