by Peter Tylee
Michele shrugged when he left the room. She logged into her computer and filled out the necessary forms to notify the system of her return before curling up on the couch and closing her eyes.
*
James’s head came up with a start. “What?” It came out as a croak, his vocal cords too fatigued to form the word properly.
“I said, wake up!” Esteban shook him harder, trying to rouse the information technology co-ordinator from the deepest slumber he’d achieved in days.
James rubbed the numbness from his face and removed the sleep from his eyes before focussing on the intruder. “What is it?”
“You have work to do,” Esteban said cruelly, having no comprehension of how hard James had been working already.
James waved at the monitor. “I can’t find the holes. My team’s working on it.” He snorted. “The ones that came in today anyway.” None of the original volunteers was willing to spend that much time at work, but others had stepped forward to fill the ranks and he’d had a steady stream of fresh minds working on the problem, so far with little success.
“I don’t care about that,” Esteban growled. “I want to know what the Raven’s up to.” He hoped the cyborg had an insight into Dan’s mysterious appearance in San Francisco the previous night.
James shook when a frisson ran through his body. “That man’s an animal.”
Esteban nodded. “Yeah, but he gets results.”
James arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t see what he did to some poor Australian doctor.” His head was spinning with fatigue and over-reliance on stimulants. His legs were aching from too many days in his chair, and he’d been forgetting to wriggle his toes to avoid deep vein thrombosis.
“Doctor?”
“Yeah, some guy in Brisbane.” James grimaced. “He made a real mess.”
“Let me see.” Esteban pushed forward to squint at the tiny font on James’s monitor. “Why’s he tracking Tedman Kennedy?”
James shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t download everything or he’ll know I’m here. It started after he mutilated the doctor. Maybe he’s a friend? Someone that’ll lead him to the others?”
Esteban shook his head and swore a long string of curses under his breath. “I doubt it.” He’s changed chip. “Where is he now?”
“Uh…” James sent sluggish commands through his implant. “Hang on a second.” Esteban waited impatiently, tapping his fingers against anything nearby in a fidgety display of nerves. James ignored him and busied himself with the Raven’s thoughts. After all, they required some measure of interpretation – thoughts were a very individual thing. What one man intended to be funny, another would find insulting. And so it went with every thought that passed through the Raven’s computer. “I think he’s in Sydney.”
“You think?” Esteban was far from impressed.
“It’s not an exact science.” You should be thankful I could get anything.James was getting annoyed with Esteban’s lack of understanding. But he couldn’t be bothered educating the swine, especially while so sleep deprived.
“All right, forget it then.” Esteban stormed from the room, his gun raised and his eyes darting everywhere.
What crawled up your arse?James wondered. But his interest subsided soon after his door swung shut – he’d installed a pneumatic hinge to take care of the people who forgot to close the door behind them. He hated working with an open door and hated people who forgot to knock. What if he was in the middle of a dirty video call to his wife?
“Hey honey.” He felt drunk from lack of sleep and before he knew it, he was looking into the videophone at his wife’s beaming smile. “I was hoping you’d call.”
“Hi.” James was stunned; he didn’t remember dialling. “Are you okay?”
“I’d be better if you were here.” A rippling frown marred her forehead. “You look terrible.”
James hadn’t looked in a mirror for days so he hadn’t seen his bloodshot eyes, the dark sagging bags under them, or the sickly pallor of his skin. He looked as if the flu had flattened him and antibiotics hadn’t boosted his lagging immune system to stave off death. Either that or he hadn’t slept in days. “Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say. “You look good. How’s Lillian?”
“She’s fine.” Susan was pouting. “But she’d also be better if you were here. Are you sure we’re not having an argument?”
“Not unless you started one without me?” It was possible. It’d be just like her to get angry at his extended absence.
“No, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t avoiding me, that’s all.” She looked depressed.
“I’ll be home soon.” James tried to smile but his lips were parched and they split before he could show teeth. “This can’t go on much longer.” He thought about the Raven. He’s homing in on the target now…“I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”
“Okay.” She blew a kiss into the camera. “I can’t wait to hear your good news. Are you sure I’m going to like it?”
“Positive.” James returned the kiss.
*
Sunday, September 19, 2066
International Portal Terminals
4:45Sydney, Australia
“Why don’t you just buy me a lifetime voucher at Liquor-Time?” Chuck asked dryly. Not even Dan could keep his spirits high during the dead hours of the night. His entertainment-starved mind needed a something like a ballgame to quench his thirst for distraction.
“I’ll think about it,” Dan said. “For now I’ll stick to, what is it? Seven bottles?”
It was actually six, but Chuck was the sort of person that’d scam a bottle if he could. Not because he was a heavy drinker, but because that was how he jested with friends. He’d crack open the first bottle and salute Dan and his crusade. Whatever it is.It was something to keep his imagination occupied anyway.
“That’ll do.” He tagged the weapons and passed them back. “Have a pleasant trip Mr Kennedy.”
Dan nodded and walked to the portals. He was glad Christopher was working tonight; it made things easier.
The mid-afternoon bustle of the United States east coast international terminal was in stark contrast to the lethargic pace Dan stepped out of in Australia. The jostle took him by surprise and he coughed for longer than usual. He still didn’t entirely trust his chip selector and fidgeted with it nervously in his pocket. What if it doesn’t work? What if two chips are active instead of one? What if they realise the signal’s coming from my pocket and not my spine?They were the same questions he’d tossed through his mind on the past two occasions he’d approached a foreign immigration counter. He knew instincts would take over if anything went horribly wrong, but what would instincts make him do? That was the scary part. Nobody could make a run for it; the immigration officials all had emergency buttons at their counters. If anybody bolted, the officials would override the system and lock down all portals. It was effective. Nobody had ever evaded the immigration blockade. Would I shoot? Hold a hostage? Would I capitulate? What?They were questions he couldn’t possibly answer until faced with the immediate need for a decision. He just hoped that need would never come.
The woman at the counter scanned him and checked his profile for consistency. “Your weapons please.” She looked frazzled by the pace of the work and didn’t spare any precious energy on pleasantries. Most travellers appreciated her direct manner. Occasionally an elderly person with a severe case of loneliness would complain that she was too abrupt, but they were the exception rather than the rule.
Dan stacked his weapons and ammunition onto the appropriate belt and allowed her to tag them.
“Next!” She squawked, her attention already shifting from Dan to the next in line.
You see? It works,Dan thought in an I-told-you-so tone. He quickly holstered his weapons and strode to the next rank of counters, American customs – which also caused him no problems – and soon he was striding for the domestic portals. Next stop, PortaNet.
He could think of
two places to find a lead on Adrian Miller, who seemed the least violent member of Esteban’s gang and therefore a logical place to start. Where would he be?It was disheartening to think he might be with Jen, gluing her eyes shut or urinating through a funnel into her mouth. He had to believe she was still alive, just to keep himself going. Anger alone was not enough. A mixture of anger and hope was a far more volatile combination. It made him unpredictable and capable of just about anything. When he generously tossed desperation into the beaker, he turned out to be an unstoppable monster. But the combination that made him a deadly foe also had the power to destroy him – a risk he was willing to take.
His heart skipped when the portal folded space and sucked him through the subsequent wormhole. It’d been a while since he’d last visited New York and the sulphurous smell that assaulted his nostrils reminded him why. Nearly 70 percent of the population had absconded with their wealth – and lives – as soon as Portals had made cross-country commuting feasible and the population erosion had proved fatal for the once thriving city. Without enough people to support the local economy, the city had collapsed and died from rot. Those who could, fled – by any means at their disposal. Those who couldn’t, were stuck, and soon ran the city as they saw fit – usually through brute force and unspeakable crimes. Intimidation ran rife and fear kept much of the population under control, but none of the factions could keep the others at bay for long. They fought like a pack of deranged wolves, attacking the lead wolf until it fell from the stage only to focus their destructive attention on the next.
America’s view on the problem was even more disturbing for Dan. The puppet government didn’t care to spend money fixing anything. It was a city, a dirty, grimy city. A tumour on the land. A remnant from the previous centaury. A relic. It was where the poor people fled because affluent society had driven them away from the more popular, less crowded land. New York had developed its own ecosystem of humanity, independent from the rest of the country. The negative effects of portal technology had struck no other city in the world harder.
There was nobody left who was qualified to fix the damaged sewage pipes so greasy sludge seeped everywhere, spoiling the already fetid air and making life even harder for the struggling, miserable inhabitants. Still, a skeletal workforce kept the city intact, for the most part. Several million New Yorkers demanded goods and services, their ultimate dream to make enough money to flee, which would in turn worsen the problem for those left behind.
But PortaNet had refused to move their headquarters. Their office towered above the impressive New York skyline, a potent symbol: the most powerful corporation ever forged against the backdrop of a city wasteland that they’d created. Regardless of PortaNet’s desire to move to greener pastures, political tension held them fast. If they fled, they may as well publicly announce that their invention had destroyed a once-vibrant city. As long as PortaNet kept its base of operations in New York, people could still delude themselves into believing that human civilization, although decadent, wasn’t yet doomed.
On the ground it was another matter entirely. Dan had to walk carefully to avoid being shot. The police presence was a joke; they were one of the factions fighting for control of the streets and the lion’s share of the cash such control would bring. Of course, few people brought fresh money into the city. Greedy individuals shuffled the same wealth in circles, gloating over it for a day before it slipped through their buttered fingers and passed to someone else.
Little wonder therefore that bounty hunting often led to New York City, a refuge for the dispossessed and desperate. Several eager youngsters who’d chased targets into the warren of vice and crime with guns blazing had never resurfaced, consumed by the passionate hatred the locals had for authority. The older and wiser bounty hunters took their time, posing as part of the scenery until they learnt their targets’ patterns and could lure them into a trap. A dangerous game of cat-and-mouse at the best of times, New York put a perilous new spin on the tumbling dice bounty hunters cast every day. Suffice to say, Dan wasn’t looking forward to this part of his plan. He would’ve preferred to portal directly into the PortaNet lobby, but it was suspiciously absent from the portal directory so he had to settle for the nearest public station.
He reluctantly entered the street. Expecting the weather to mirror the horror of the city, he was surprised to find the sun shining on a warm autumn day. More surprising: the street didn’t look like a riot zone. Ordinary people were going about ordinary tasks. Street peddlers were selling wares. Newsagents were selling newspapers – the papervariety. New York’s own newspaper, the NYN – New York News – was proudly on display. A greengrocer was selling vegetables instead of standing in front of his stall with a shotgun. There was a chemist selling medication and Dan had to look twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things – they weren’t Xantex products. He had no idea where the chemist had found the drugs. A forgotten basement from some ancient drug store?He wondered wether they’d still be potent enough. Those things have a limited shelf-life don’t they?He browsed the shelves as he passed, startled to see a new label printed on boxes of medication. Dan couldn’t believe a pharmacist would voluntarily move to New York, and he couldn’t imagine there was a large enough buffer from the surrounding turmoil to manufacture drugs. Half the city should be pounding down his door. A bicycle repair shop was next door, a row of shiny bicycles on display. They were the mode of transportation New Yorkers preferred. Everywhere he looked, people were pedalling bikes. Dan pinched himself. How’s this possible? It hasn’t been thatlong since I was here last… has it?
The United States of America had abandoned New York and now New York was turning its back in reprisal. Dan saw people exchanging cash – real cash, coins and paper that you could hold in your hands. And gauging by the number of bikes, New Yorkers had snubbed their noses at portals, which the rest of the world depended upon so desperately. Bikes are good,Dan thought, remembering Hans’s warning. It was an eye-opening experience: nobody cowered in fear; nobody eyed him suspiciously. Nobody is taking aim either,he was happy to note. None of the big brands had remained in New York after the bulk of the population fled. There simply wasn’t enough money in the community for them to leech off. But here, in the vacuum they’d created, small operators had filled the void. New Yorkers had tired of waiting for outside help and had created their own solution. The city was actually prospering and it lifted Dan’s spirit, something he desperately needed if only for a short time. Perhaps there’s some basic good in humanity after all.
A few street entertainers were begging for loose change, but they weren’t holding people at knifepoint. A pleasant change. New York had bottomed out and clawed its way back from the gunk-filled well. And in remarkably short time.Dan hoped they could sustain their newfound development, hoped they wouldn’t slide back into the anarchy they were renowned for. He was unaware that, for the first time ever, the two strongest factions were co-operating for the benefit of all. And the positive effects were only just beginning to germinate on the streets. Although they ruled autocratically, they understood the basic principle that had eluded so many of their predecessors. Their prosperity, and indeed survival, depended on the prosperity of the city as a whole.
It was sad to think that if New York developed much further the giga-corporations would take an interest, target the city with advertising campaigns, and try to weasel their way back into the economy by bumping local businesses from the bottom rungs. When they tried, for they surely would, the test of the locals’ integrity would begin. Would the ruling factions accept the devil’s invitation? Would they abandon the city they’d worked so hard to salvage from ruin? Giga-corporations would dangle unimaginable mountains of money in front of them if that were what it took to get a toehold. And from there it’d all be downhill. New York may eventually reintegrate with the rest of the country. A whimsical smile played on Dan’s lips. I hope the locals spit in their faces.
He was still marvelling at the miracle that was tra
nsforming New York when he reached PortaNet security. In many ways, PortaNet was the lifeblood of the capitalist world. People were so addicted to the company’s products that they would fight to keep the wheels turning. It was imperative that PortaNet had employees on call 24 hours, 365 days a year. A malfunctioning portal was a looming crisis – it deserved media attention! PortaNet therefore had an army of technicians crawling across the globe to maintain their equipment. And that army took a lot of co-ordination. It therefore wasn’t unreasonable to expect some degree of activity at PortaNet headquarters on the weekend. There was a digital sign welcoming pedestrians with company trivia. It read, “Did you know that PortaNet is the world’s biggest consumer of automobiles? When our reaction team responds to a portal malfunction emergency, we use old-fashioned transportation to get us there. That’s how we get you back online as soon as possible. PortaNet – keeping you connected.”
The sentinels eyed him with the hardened suspicion of seasoned guards working in the deadliest city in the world. The local population held nothing but animosity toward giga-corporations, which had abandoned them in their time of need. None of the guards was a local. After their shift, they portaled to snug little homes scattered around prettier parts of the country. For that, they were hated. And that made them weary of anyone who approached on foot.
“Can we help you sir.” His eyes narrowed to suspicious slits and he was ready to raise his automatic rifle at the first sign of trouble. He represented the security market that UniForce wished to conquer. But PortaNet, as with other giga-corporations, would need much convincing before relinquishing control of their personal security force to an outsider.
“I have an appointment,” Dan replied in his clearest, calmest voice. Americans had a tendency to disparage and distrust him for his accent. “With Adrian Miller.”
