Freedom Incorporated

by Peter Tylee

  She opened Paul’s folder with a scowl of contempt and scanned his lame excuse for a report. How dare he drop something like that on her desk? She wondered whom he’d asked to write the report. That was, after all, the way he worked. The man hadn’t done anything original that Jackie had ever seen. Paul had scratched a few indecipherable notes in the margins and underlined a few words, probably to pretend that he understood the content. Jackie pushed it to the corner of her desk in disgust. She could imagine the conversation she’d have to have now. You made some good points in that report Paul, but I think we should focus on thisin the meeting– and hand him the list of items she wanted him to cover.

  Sometimes she wished she could work with someone competent. But competence might threaten her position, and therefore her vision. And as things were she felt almighty.The power she wielded as CEO of UniForce was unparalleled. Sure, leaders from some of the other giga-coporations brandished more financial power, but Jackie’s fingers stretched in ways that were more important.

  Gently she closed her eyes, conjuring an image of the world she intended to create. A world where people feel safe to leave their doors unlocked at night.She furrowed her brow. Where nobody would dream of raping a young girl.She’d buried the memory so deeply into the folds of her psyche that she no longer flinched at the word ‘rape’. There was a time when it would have sent her into a tailspin depression, but that was before she’d started taking Genyrex, the Xantex wonder drug.

  Pity.Sometimes she wished the people around her understood her vision. Sometimes she wished they had the intellectual capacity to fathom that it was actually possible. The fact that she intended to make billions in the process was just an added bonus. And the fact that some people need squashing…She shrugged. Too bad. Some people deserve to have their lives ended under the heel of a shoe. My shoe.

  Personal security – the way of the future.She’d been striving towardit for seven years. Personal security was the Holy Grail of the law enforcement industry, something truly worthy of her dedication. She knew she could rocket UniForce to number one on the Lawson scale if she could just crack the personal security market. Not just bodyguards, company security too.She’d even created a new position; the papers were in her third drawer. She didn’t have anyone in mind yet, but she’d recognise the right person when he or she came along. Guard co-ordinator, head of the final corporate branch.She had a vision where UniForce provided security personnel for all the giga-corporations, each with a personally tailored and neatly outsourced package – for a modest fee. Then, after conquering the corporate sector, it would only be a matter of time before she could weasel her way into the spineless government sector and promote UniForce as thelaw enforcement solution for the world.

  She screwed her fingers into tight fists of rapture. Timing.Jackie knew it was the most important factor. Too soon and they’ll run… too late and I’ll miss the opportunity.And she knew exactly how to do it: feed them information about the crime riddling their innards and then propose a solution to flush the vermin from their pipes. She couldn’t help another smile, but it quickly reverted to a frown when she felt her skin tightening across her cheekbones.

  Jackie focussed her attention on her computer screen where figures revealed the growth of each UniForce branch, subdivided into country and product statistics. One column was particularly interesting and she arched an eyebrow. Exclusive level bounty-hunting lists were selling particularly well. “Well done Michele.” She had to praise good work where praise was due. The bounty apprehension rate had increased two percent, but revenue from lists had jumped an astonishing sixteen percent. She’d more than outstripped the growth Jackie had expected and had single-handedly lifted the corporate average by three points. Jackie approved – she approved of Michele, and she approved of her decision to promote Michele. Her predecessor had finally retired. And about time too, the old fuck, Jackie thought. Within five months Michele had revolutionised the branch.

  “Good for you,” Jackie said, lifted her chin to survey the room and reassure herself it was empty.

  She licked her lips. Just thinking about Michele’s plump breasts and ample rump hardened her nipples and made her breathing go heavy. A few key-taps later and she’d locked her computer.She needed to go home, back to where she could get comfortable and allow Sasha to satisfy her swelling desires.

  *

  Wednesday, September 15, 2066

  NSW Police Department, Parramatta Office

  10:51 Sydney, Australia

  Simon warred against the urge to thump his keyboard.

  Every damn word!He clenched a fist in anger and stuffed it as far as he could into his mouth, biting his knuckles to stop from smashing the computer. His spacebar was playing up again. His typing style meant that he always pressed the key with his thumb on the far right side of the bar, but for a week it’d been loose and was wobbling on a broken spring. It just jiggled when he pressed it. To insert a space he had to press hard, really hard.He was getting into the habit of slapping it at the end of each word, but sometimes he forgot and it gave him the shits.

  “Damn it Mike!” Simon thrust his wheelie chair back and stretched to his full height – six foot and two inches.

  “What?” Mike demanded, the frosted glass door muting his voice.

  “I’ve put in a request for a replacement keyboard every day for the past week!” Simon burst from his office and scowled at Michael Tolhurst, the officer in charge of supplies.

  “Well there’s nothing Ican do about it, you’ve gotta ring it through to the Hell Desk,” Mike grumbled in reply. He always turned sullen when someone yelled at him.

  But Simon wasn’t yelling at anyone in particular, he just needed to yell. And Mike was the nearest target. “Oh, fuck it!”

  His language caught him a warning glance from Steward across the room. The Superintendentwouldn’t tolerate foul mouthing in the office. It was his job to ensure the force retained what little was left of their dwindling public image, and he considered ripe language too uncouth if there was a possibility of civilians in the building. Simon understood why, though he hated the reason. They weren’t just working for public interest anymore; they were entrenched in a bloody battle for survival. And they were losing. They had private contractors to worry about now. And the enemy were slick. They offered candy to anyone who turned up for questioning and the public loved their extravagant advertising campaign. The Australian Government was just searching for excuses to axe the police force and outsource the entire mess.

  Simon swallowed hard. He was uninitiated in the game of politics.In truth, it scared him senseless.

  “All right.” He slunk back to his office and closed the door behind him.

  He grunted in disgust and dialled the number, trying to relax before someone answered.

  It was a longwait.

  “Good morning, Help Desk. This is Peter, how can I help you?”

  “My keyboard’s broken, I’d like it replaced.” Simon tried to keep his voice calm and good-natured. It was still deep and husky and sounded like a rumbling volcano, but that was as pleasant as he could make it.

  “Okay, can you describe the problem to me?”

  “I just did, I need a new keyboard.”

  “Yes, but what’s the fault with your keyboard?”

  “The spacebar’s broken.”

  “So when you press the spacebar it doesn’t print a space on your screen?”

  Simon nodded and the movement squirmed into the tone of his voice. “Yeah, pretty much. It looks like the spacebar’s come loose because I have to press it hard in the deadcentreor nothing happens. It just wobbles. I’ve called about this every day for the past week, you know.”

  “Oh, okay, do you have your reference number?”

  “Huh?”

  “When you first logged the call you would’ve been given a reference number. It’ll help me find your call in the system.”

  Simon closed his eyes in frustration. “No, I don’t have a damned
reference number, I wasn’t given one.”

  A pause.

  “Can you spell your name for me please?”

  “Simon West. That’s w-e-s-t. As in, the opposite of east.”

  Another pause.

  “Okay, I’ve found your call… hmm… oh…” Simon heard him swallow. “It looks like this call was waiting on the serial number from your keyboard before we could place it through to Global Integrated Systems for a replacement.”

  Simon was flabbergasted. It was a true testament to his incredible self-control that he didn’t leap down the phone and strangle everyone on the other end. “Okay, fine.” He rattled off the serial number from the bottom edge of his keyboard and scribbled down the reference number he received in return.

  Steward Vincent chose that moment to crack Simon’s door and peer into his office. “You got a moment?”

  Simon switched on his smile and perfectly aligned white teeth beamed from his dark complexion. “Yeah, sure.” He waited while Steward crossed the room and sat on a corner – the only corner – of Simon’s desk not covered with paper.

  “Hey, if this is about the swearing just before you wouldn’t believe-”

  “It’s not about that,” Steward said, cutting him off. He slapped a manila-bound file in front of his top detective.

  “What’s this?” Simon opened it and immediately saw the designation-52 in the top corner, appropriately written in red. “Oh, no.”

  “It’s your turn,” Steward said apologetically, which was unusual for the Superintendent.

  “No, no!” Simon pushed the file away, trying to get it off his desk as if it were a snake. “Get someone else to do it, I’m too busy.”

  “So are the others.”

  “What about Anders? He didn’t look busy, or Kim?”

  “No, it’s your turn. Nobody likes them. Today it’s yours.” With a note of finality, Steward stood and straitened his trousers and necktie. “Make it quick. Don’t let it get in the way of real work.”

  “Great,” Simon mumbled when his Superintendentwas gone. “Another bullshit case.” He didn’t really have any pressing work, but the thought of paper shuffling a designation-52 made the curly hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. 52 was the code the force used to identify an ‘explainable, unsolvable’. That usually meant UniForce was involved and there was a WEF sanction on the killing. Ergo, he couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Okay, so… what’ve we got?” he said to nobody in particular. “Another dead dude. What a surprise.” The words were stale; he uttered them at the beginning of every case.

  Adam Oaten.Simon ran his finger across the page, reading the description of the incident. It’s already old.The crime had happened on Monday. Must’ve bounced around before finally landing in Parramatta. Those cocksuckers in Strathfield wouldn’t have the balls…His animosity rose above typical precinct rivalry; he truly believed the officers in Strathfield were worse than useless. Simon had spent his orientation in Strathfield after leaving the academy, but he’d been so revolted by their standards and ethics that he’d requested a transfer six months later. He’d been working in Parramatta ever since.

  He turned the page.

  Someone had done the preliminary work. He wondered who, and why he or she hadn’t taken the case themselves. He read the dry description of the scene and his imagination coloured in the details. But the unemotional description of the cadaver made him squirm. He’d seen what nanotoxin could do to a body and it wasn’t a pretty. Comes with the job I guess. He swallowed hard and poured a cup of office-coffee, which looked more like muddy water. It was lukewarm and bitter, and made his stomach cramp, but it diluted the ghastly images in his mind.

  So, someone shot him with nanotoxin and took his fifth thoracicvertebrae.Simon skimmed the remainder of the autopsy report and keyed the case number into his computer, trying hard not to let his frustration boil over at the busted spacebar.

  The Department’s database had more information than Superintendent Vincent had handed him, but it still wasn’t much and probably wouldn’t be in Simon’s final report. There was a list of names and destinations corresponding to the portal activity in the surrounding suburbs for two hours before and three hours after the murder. In total, it was nearly 85,000 entries. Nowonder he didn’t bother printing it.The period of interest coincided with the homeward rush of commuters. Simon entered a few search terms to refine the list by ruling out private portals and eliminating all portal activity after seventeen-hundred hours. The list shortened to just over seven-hundred entries. On a whim, he decided to eliminate everything but the portals in Meadowbank. He honestly doubted that anybodywould be stupid enough to kill a man in the Meadowbank reserve and flee using a portalin the same suburb.

  Twenty-six entries.He briefly scanned the list,butthe seventh entry caught his breath.

  What?Simon sat straight in his chair and arched an eyebrow. Dan?

  He double-clicked the applicable entry and squinted at the details. Dan Sutherland had portaled out of Meadowbank station to his home address in Andamooka at 16:18. What were you doing there buddy?Simon rocked back in his chair and stroked his neat goatee, lost in thought. It’d been a long time; it felt like years since he’d last seen Dan. Time was funny that way; it was really only a few months. Five? Six months?He couldn’t be certain.

  “But… he couldn’t have…” Chief InspectorWest entered his access code for the WEF apprehension database and scanned for Adam Oaten. He impatiently watched the flashing cursor and sipped some more of his coffee, unblinking. After a grinding sound from his antiquated hard disk, the list of possible matches appeared for his inspection. There were only two and he checked both. One was for an Adam Oaten somewhere in Florida but the other was for Sydney, Australia. Tingling with adrenaline, Simon’s set his coffee a safe distance from his trembling hands. But… not Dan.He checked the DNA profile listed on Adam Oaten’s WEF database record and compared it to the DNA taken at the autopsy. It was the same. He was both relieved and terrified to note the apprehension status – target terminated. The WEF had only issued an apprehension warrant. Adam Oaten’s death was only permissible if he resisted.

  Okay, so someone from UniForce tried to nab the guy and he put up a fight.He shrugged. It’s not the first time.The disturbing element was the possibility, no matter how slim, that Dan was somehow involved. It was death by nanotoxin after all. Simon had heard that Dan had crossed over to the private sector, but he couldn’t believe Dan was wantonly cruel.

  Could he?

  *

  Wednesday, September 15, 2066

  17:13 Andamooka, South Australia

  It had taken the better part of a day, but Dan felt stable again. The Zyclone was pounding on his neurotransmitters and he felt less like lying in bed until the end of time. Now he was back to business.

  His eyes darted over the list of names.

  Damn you.He wondered who in UniForce was selling his lists twice. That Roach woman?He frowned. Someone else making a buck on the side?

  This list was fresh; only two names had faded on his screen. The Raven had apprehended both.

  He examined every file, trying to gauge whom the Raven was least likely to track. There were several large bounties on the list and it seemed logical the Raven would go for them. The Raven’s return rate was astonishing, so the difficulty of finding the targets probably wouldn’t deter him. Dan finally settled on a medium-return 26-year-old female. Hmm… I’m ten years older than that.It made Dan feel old and he became acutely aware ofthe pain in his joints. He hadn’t exactly been looking after himself recently. When his wife was still alive he used to promise every morning that he’d be careful and that he’d look after himself. The promise usually preceded a warm kiss and Katherine would wrap her arms around him, pull him close, and whisper, “You’d better be careful or you’ll have me to answer to!”

  The target was a five foot six brunette. Thin. Dan peered closer at his screen until he could almost see the individual
pixels. Perhaps willowy is the word. She looked scared in the photograph; he wondered when it was taken. He memorized the contours of her face, her thin arching eyebrows and her straight nose. He burned the image into his mind, murmuring her physical description repeatedly.

  The WEF had issued a warrant for her apprehension – and her death if she resisted. It perplexed Dan to think about killing her without first knowing why, without knowing what she did wrong. He was glad bounty hunting had never forced him into that position. Most people came quietly, if not willingly, when facing the .45-inch barrel of his 1911. He couldn’t imagine himself pulling the trigger on a willowy girl. Things would have to go horribly wrong before he’d even consider it.

  Dan kept reading. She was untagged. He grunted. Weren’t they all?Some of the more cunning criminals had had their microchips surgically removed, which made them difficult to track. Others had escaped the microchipping squads entirely and so didn’t even have a scar on their back. But they were rare. Dan had no idea how they survived in the modern world where people needed a microchip to do anything. Howdothey pay for groceries?The micro-implant stored the bank details that retailers needed to scan. And they can’t portal anywhere.He baulked at the thought of always using old-mode transport. It was amusing – even fun – for a while, but the novelty quickly wore off.

  And evading the squads can’t be easy. Teams of chipping-officers worked with hand-held scanners in public, usually – but not always – in crowds. Their job was to ensure everyone had a valid reading on the scanner. They detained people who failed the test and forcibly took them to surgery to have a microchip embedded next to their spine. It had been illegal not to have a microchip since ’59.

  Dan twitched when he thought about his microchip. He preferred to forget about it, but that was difficult in his line of work. Roughly amillion people objected to the chips, but everyone else thought they were a wonderful idea. There was no need for cash or plastic cards, personal identity theft was a dark creature of the past, and they’d eradicated bag snatching. So what did it matter that microchipping encroached a little on civil liberties?