Freedom Incorporated

by Peter Tylee

  So,he thought bitterly.It was UniForce all along.It drove the final stake into his heart – he’d begun work for his wife’s killers a few months after lovingly laying her to rest. How could I be so blind?“It’s unusual for an assassin to be that… direct, that candid,” Dan said, wondering how Esteban had received permission to play out his fantasy.

  “I think I can explain that,” Cookie said with an apologetic cough. “The Raven killed their CEO and they declared a state of company emergency. I think he can do pretty much what he wants.”

  I told you so. Dan knew they were thinking it. Hell, I deserve it.It saddened him. One more mistake to add to my damning list.“At least we know where to start looking for her.” He wasn’t yet ready to give up. Not yet. He wasn’t going to give up until they’d recovered Jen’s corpse. He remembered where they’d found Katherine, in some musty, anonymous woods. One night and already the animals had gnawed her bones, defiling her naked and bloodied body. Her murder was bad enough, but Esteban hadn’t even granted her the decency of protecting her body from hungry animals or prying eyes. The insects had feasted too. He stopped the memories before he recalled her infested flesh.

  “We have to leave. Now,” Dan said, as much for his benefit as for theirs. “Get your stuff.”

  They obeyed without discourse, leaving Dan to strip naked and shower to cleanse the filth from his body. Afterward he brushed a hand across the steam-fogged mirror and gazed upon his reflection, wondering how such a vile creature could exist. But instead of landing a punch on the mirror as he had after Katherine’s murder, he slapped himself hard across the cheek. Damn you.

  Something whispered in his mind, a distant memory of a time he had wished to forget. It lured him closer, enticing him to enter a realm that he’d hoped he had escaped forever. That part of him lay impoverished by famine and decay, rusted from over a decade of neglect. With no further regard for what may become of his humanity, Dan reached into his past and donned the mantle of the shrewd exterminator he had once been. He wore it with as much ease as he had all those years ago. It surprised him that nothing visibly changed, despite his inner transformation. His reflection was just as it had been. He’d half expected a putrid aura of death to rise from his shoulders and his eyes to burn red like hot coals.

  He snuck into his bedroom and sorted the darkest clothes from his collection. The garb he chose was black enough to put the Raven to shame. Weapons.He needed more than his pathetic Colt, which lay somewhere in the dust above. Long ago he’d carved a secret enclave from the master bedroom that opened into an armoury of forbidden weapons. They comprised some the most innovative slaughtering devices ever conceived. He replaced his Colt with a modified 8mm pistol that used a series of baffles to silence the shots. More.He couldn’t hunt men armed with automatic rifles carrying only a pistol.

  The Cobra-KT was next. He stripped the barrel from the stock and slung them separately under his thick winter coat. Ammunition.He slotted five 8mm clips into his belt and filled four magazines for the Cobra-KT. His Ka-BarMarine combat knifewas next. The blade gleamedin the ambient light of his secret armoury and Dan inspected its razor-like edgebefore slotting it into a hidden sheath in his right boot.

  And a pulse emitter.It was the strangest weapon he owned. Designed only 21 years earlier, it was the closest anybody had come to a laser weapon. Except it didn’t use light, it used a focussed beam of sound to decimate the target. Engineers had tuned the low frequency soundwave to the harmonic of human bones. Any human standing in its effective range – ten metres – would literally shatter when he pulled the trigger. The vibrations were beneath the audible range so the weapon was silent. Except for the crackle of exploding bone.Dan remembered the nightmarish sounds from the last time he’d used it. The muzzle was wide, four centimetres across, and the weapon had sleek lines, making it look docile next to the Cobra-KT. Best of all, it couldn’t run out of ammunition. A tiny hydrogen cell provided the pulse emitter with constant electricity, guaranteed for 4,000 uses. Dan checked the counter. Good. It still has 3,932 charges remaining.Charge time was sometimes an issue; it took five seconds to recharge between shots so it wasn’t a suitable primary weapon. But it fired a compact cone of devastating sound; the lethal spread was five degrees. And it was powerful enough to pulverise Esteban’s spine if he shoved the muzzle against his back and pulled the trigger.

  Cuffs.Two sets of handcuffs slipped into the deep pockets of his coat.

  I’m ready.He swept his room with one final glance before closing the armoury and striding into the lounge room where Samantha and Cookie were waiting.

  “Where to now?” Cookie asked anxiously.

  “I’m chipped,” Dan said. “And that’ll be a problem where we’re going.”

  Cookie nodded thoughtfully. “I know a guy…”

  *

  Jen closed her eyes, unable to look into the face of the man who was planning to murder her. It was a strange thing, knowing that you were going to die. It put many things in perspective. So many things that she had considered important suddenly didn’t matter. She almost wanted to laugh, and would have if the pain radiating from her wrists wasn’t bringing tears unbidden to her eyes.

  One thing was certain: she wasn’t going to beg. Jen had listened to Esteban recount the horror of Katherine’s death and refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing her beg for her life. Dogs beg, not people.It steadied her resolve and she lifted her chin, opening her eyes again. She wondered whether he was sensitive enough to notice the difference in her gaze, to see that she was stronger than the worst pain he could inflict.

  Should I talk to him?She wondered whether she could control her impulses to spit and scream if she tried. Even breathing was painful. It sent shockwaves spiralling out from the wire that was rubbing into raw nerves. Or stay silent? Which would he prefer?She would do the opposite. Hmm… Jen knew he liked watching her cower in fear and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  When she finally mustered the energy to speak, the calm of her voice surprised her. “Do you care to tell me why you’re doing this?”

  Esteban smiled slickly. “Let’s just say some people were pissed that you hacked into our network and ordered the Raven to do something he oughtn’t.”

  She stifled a gasp. “He did it?”

  “And about time too,” Esteban said callously. “That old fart was a pain in the backside. You actually did us a favour, you know? It’s just a pity we can’t let you live now.”

  Jen tried to leverage herself to a more comfortable position but couldn’t. “Then would you mind loosening my wrists? You tied them too tight.”

  “Uh, no. Sorry.” Esteban twisted to reach into the trunk and hefted a black case onto his lap. “They’re tight for a reason. But they wouldn’t cause you so much pain if you’d sit still.”

  She noticed something feral in Esteban’s gaze and it frightened her. He’s crazy… he’s totally fucking insane.That was perhaps the scariest thing of all, not that she was in a car with a man that intended to rape and kill her, but that Estebanwas several sandwiches short of a picnic. Jen did her best to mask her fear by studying the other two men. The driver was diagonally opposite and therefore easier to see. He had a thick jaw, but looked too neatly presented to be a thug. He wore a suit and a tie, and probably shoes polished to a high gloss. His strawberry hair curled around his ears and a thick pelt covered his giant paws, which gripped the steering wheel. He chose that moment to shift gears and their land cruiser bunny-hopped before he found the friction point between clutch and accelerator. A cry of pain escaped from her lungs at the sudden jolt and the driver turned to see what the fuss was. She saw compassion in his brackish eyes and he coughed an apology for his clumsy driving. How odd,she thought. It forged the basis for hope and Jen wondered whether she could escape by befriending the driver.

  “Watch it Junior.” Esteban leered, slapping him on the shoulder again. “You’ll hurt our grace.”

  Junior?Jen jotted a mental note.


  Next, she tried to see the man in front. She couldn’t see much: shortly cropped black hair, ears that stuck out like barn doors, and a neatly shaved neck. Another suit. Hmm… figures.It fit her stereotype ofruthless corporate managers. He still cradled his automatic rifle and was nervously checking the side mirror every few seconds. They didn’t know whether Dan had stowed a car in an underground garage and was tearing down the roadin hot pursuit.

  What if he’s waiting for us in town?Adrian swallowed and said, “We’re not going back to Andamooka are we?”

  “How should I know?” Junior retorted. “You’re the nav.”

  “No, don’t,” Esteban piped in. “Sutherland might have laid a trap.” He snatched the map and stabbed it with a finger, looking for a new destination. He felt bitterly disappointed to see how far Andamooka was from the rest of civilization; there were no nearby towns. “We’ll have to knock politely on someone’s door.” He flipped the lid on the leather case he’d been stroking and Jen saw needles, lots of them, and fluid-filled tubes.

  “Now, unfortunately, we can’t have you messing up our plans.” He extracted a hypodermic needle and plunged it into a reservoir of clear fluid.

  “What is that?” Jen could no longer control the fear in her voice.

  “Party juice.” Esteban grinned, squirting the air bubble from the top of the needle after flicking it a few times first. “Now, hold still.”

  Jen wriggled as far back as she could, trying desperately to reach the doorhandle. She thought she’d rather take her chances tumbling headlong to the road than trust her body to whatever Esteban had sucked into the needle. It was tantalisingly close; the tips of her fingers brushed the latch. But she paid a hefty price, the restraints cut deeper into her wrists and she sobbed in agony.

  “Shh… hush child.” Esteban stabbed her in the shoulder, shoving the needle deep enough for the tip to scrape herhumerus. He plunged the liquid into her body and yanked the needle free, leaving Jen to wince at the new pain that distracted her from the throbbing in her wrists.

  Her feeling was the first to go. At leastit numbed the pain. Next was her sight – the world faded to black. In that instant, she clung to consciousness with sound alone, and she heard Esteban slobber something in her ear. She used her last thoughts before the silent void of oblivion swamped her to wonder whether she’d ever wake up.

  Chapter 7

  States have fallen back and corporations have become the new institutions.

  Jaggi Singh

  Saturday, September 18, 2066

  15:12 Brisbane, Queensland

  Dan surveyed the cityscape with a seething suspicion that bordered on paranoia. “Are you sure about this?”

  Cookie nodded, holding Samantha’s hand with his left and clutching his computer to his chest with his right. “Yeah man, he’s helped us before.”

  “You were chipped?”

  “I was,” Samantha answered. “Jen and Cookie escaped but a squad rounded me up while I was staying with my parents.”

  “He’s the guy that sells us the chip selectors,” Cookie explained. “He’s cool, I can vouch for him.”

  Well, it’s not as if I have time to shop around.Dan pressed his lips together, squeezing them into a thin line of determination. “Okay.”

  Cookie couldn’t remember the correct portal number, so they hadn’t stepped directly into the backwater surgery. Dan found it unnerving that the surgery was unlisted, but upon further reflection thought that it was just as well – he wasn’t seeking a legal procedure. They’d landed five blocks away at one of the prolific portal stations in central Brisbane. The streets looked deserted, as they usually did in the metropolises. It was eerie to walk down what had once been a thriving business district only to see stray street hoodlums and bums begging for scraps of food on the pavement. Gone were the days when they could beg for cash, nobody carried it anymore. The homeless had died from starvation in droves and a wave of needy had inundated support agencies when the cities began to decay. All thanks to the portals. Dan understood why the cities had died – he was even part of the problem. He didn’t want to live in a city and didn’t care what happened there. The cities existed on another plane, shrouded by myths and spooky stories that parents used to frighten children into being good. Nobody wanted to live there. People wanted to live in the country, or on the coast where they could take evening beach walks. Hardly surprising when portal technology afforded them the luxury of metropolitan convenience with the space and clean air of the country. After the exodus, venturous businesses had swooped on the cheap real estate and demolished much of the old city blocks, making way for their headquarters and factories. Realty King had forged a successful giga-corporation by buying many of the vacated premises, turning them into something attractive, and selling them for a tidy profit. Then they’d swallowed their competition and ballooned into a massive international conglomerate, just like the others. As far as Dan knew, they were the only surviving realtor operating in Australia and the United States. They used aggressive land reclamation practices to entice businesses back to cheap city land. But some of the old-world charm still stood, and a slab of it punctuated the five blocks between the portal station and the surgery. It was a grotty maze of twisting streets and cracked pavement, the perfect setting for what Dan had in mind.

  Dan was deliberately leading them through the side streets, staying clear of the places likely to have mounted cameras. So it came as little surprise when an angst-ridden band of adolescents waylaid them.

  “Hold it, you up-town fucks.” He was clearly the leader, wearing a spiked leather jacket plucked from the punk scene of the last century, a pair of faded blue jeans and army issue general-purpose boots. There were five in total and the others wore a similar uniform, their badge of conformity.

  “This here’s our turf. You gotta pay to pass this way.” He was perhaps nineteen years old, twenty at the most. But big for his age. He must have figured the odds were in his favour, despite the determined streak in Dan’s eyes. He menacingly hefted a metre-long pipe and his friends carried everything from bike chains to machete-like knives.

  Dan calmly looked them over. Samantha and Cookie knew about the arsenal he’d tucked inside his coat and felt safe under his protective wing.

  “How much do you expect us to pay?” All emotion had drained from Dan’s voice, leaving an icy clarity that only Samantha and Cookie understood.

  The teenage gangster had neck-length hair that sheened with grease and he ran his fingers through it before answering, “How about you strip naked and we’ll take what we want.”

  “I have a better idea.” Dan took one pace forward and the gang fanned out, flanking them threateningly. “How about you bend over and I’ll shove that pipe of yours where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  An alarm shrieked in Samantha’s mind, reminding her that Dan was unstable and possibly capable of carrying out his threat. What’s he doing?The gang edged behind them, closing the ring. Their leader was fuming at the insult, trying to think of a comeback and becoming flustered by his lack of wit.

  Samantha reached inside Dan’s coat and pulled out the 8mm modified Colt, aiming it squarely between the gang leader’s eyes. She took a step forward, mustered her courage, and said, “Would you mind getting out of our way?” Her harsh tone surprised even her; she’d never snapped at anyone that vehemently before. “We’re in a hurry.”

  Dan whipped his hands inside his coat and extracted both halves of the Cobra-KT, snapped them together, and spun to aim at a fat, surly youth carrying a machete. “Please?”

  That was enough.

  They bolted for cover, yelling unintelligible insults over their shoulders.

  “Nice neighbourhood,” Dan said. “Maybe I’ll buy a condo here.” He disassembled his rifle and slotted the halves back into their holsters before presenting an empty palm to Samantha.

  She reversed the weapon and handed it to him grip first. “Sorry.”

  He started walking,
only mildly irritated that Samantha had borrowed his Colt.

  But the silence attacked her conscience until she felt the overpowering need to defend herself. “I just wanted to dissipate the tension.”

  “No,” Dan grunted. “You were worried I’d kill one of those kids.”

  “Would you have?” She asked. “I’ve seen death in your eyes.”

  He didn’t deny it. “Yes: Esteban’s death. But not a bunch of kids, I’m not a ruthless killer.”

  “Yes you are. You’re just selective.”

  Dan whirled to face her. “Don’t you think he deserves to die?”

  Samantha shook her head. “I don’t know what I believe. If you’d asked a week ago I’d have said nobody deserves capital punishment.” She shrugged. “But now… well, I don’t know.”

  “He’s above the law you know. If we don’t do anything, nobody will. Nobody can.”

  The truth stung enough for Samantha to question the rigidity of her moral code.

  “He’s going to torture Jen, he’s going to rape and kill her, and he’s already done the same to my wife. If that doesn’t mean he’s forfeited his right to live on the same civilised planet as the rest of us, then I don’t know what would.”

  “Perhaps that’s where we differ,” Samantha said, doggedly standing her ground. “I don’t think we’re civilised at all. And I don’t expect much from people, but I don’t think anyone has the right to take another life. Or didn’t… now I’m not sure.”

  “Come on,” Cookie interrupted. “The sooner we get that chip out of your back the sooner we can start looking for Jen.”

  We?Dan had never intended for anybody to tag along, but he’d pick the moment to tell them carefully. Another ten minutes and they were standing in front of the surgery. It reminded Dan of the bubbles he used to make from detergent when he was a child – it was one gigantic glass bubble, complete with rainbows of refracted light dancing along its curves. Somebody got drunk in the forties, right in the middle of the glass craze.It sprung from a time when glass manufacturers mastered the complex art of impregnating glass with current-controlled insulation. The marketing team responsible for promoting it had won an award,andDan could see why.