Freedom Incorporated

by Peter Tylee

  Adrian hadn’t yet risen high enough in PortaNet management for the guards to recognise his name. Dan understood the drill; the guards would first check the building’s roster to see whether Adrian was present. If he were, they would check with reception to confirm the appointment. Only then would they ask Dan to leave his weapons and escort him to the meeting. It was standard security procedure.

  One of the guards fiddled with a handheld computer before shaking his head.

  “Adrian Miller is not here sir. I suggest you get in touch with him and reconfirm the appointment.” Despite Dan’s poor choice of attire for a business meeting, the guard would never treat him with disrespect. What if he were an important man? PortaNet didn’t want to impart a poor impression of their company by allowing their guards to insult people. But nor would he budge from his position – the job demanded inflexibility.

  That was fine with Dan, he had what he’d come for. He would’ve preferred to have somebody page him if Adrian turned up, but he knew that went against protocol so he didn’t even bother to ask. The guards would only decline; divulging the whereabouts of PortaNet personnel posed a significant security threat.

  He coerced his face into a smile. “I’ll do that. Thanks for your time.” Then he turned and walked briskly away before their nerves snapped and their trigger fingers grew itchy. But I’ll be back.Somebody who worked there shared the guilt for his wife’s murder and he didn’t intend to rest until all those responsible had paid for their sins.

  Dan almost enjoyed the stroll back to the station. The green fronds of life were slowly unfurling, right before his eyes. Maybe it’s worthwhile to hope after all.And, if he could hope for the salvation of humanity, he could hope to find Jen alive too.

  His next stop was the only home address listed on Adrian’s file. It was a long shot, especially considering the file’s date, but in desperate times… Assuming the information was accurate, at some point Adrian had lived in one of the estates that had sprung up around the mountains near Cincinnati. It was rugged country but the past three decades had done a lot to tame it. By sheer weight of numbers, the new estates had transformed once-picturesque landscape into a giant suburban sprawl. A few acreages existed for the ultra-rich, but they were the exception rather than the rule. Without cities to concentrate human populations into tight wads, people were discovering there was precious little land to go around. Sixteen billion people were complaining about sixteen billion people. PortaNet’s publicly announced solution was to seed a new planet, and they spent trillions every year on space exploration to appease an angry population that had no better symbol at which to focus their fury. After all, before PortaNet introduced them to the convenience of instant transportation, they hadn’t noticed how crowded things were becoming. Now only the world’s wastelands, such as Dan’s property in the desert, were free of the hubbub. And such places, un-coincidentally, had the least attractive brochures.

  Dan wasn’t in familiar territory. None of his forays into America had landed him near Cincinnati and he had to guess which portal station would be closest to his goal. He didn’t want to use PortaNet’s directory assistance, wishing to minimise his exposure to Echelon. But with help from the locals, he finally located the suburb, the street, and the house.

  Impressive.It was a luxurious estate boasting lush hedges and ample lawn – pocket money for enterprising neighbourhood kids who’d started a mowing brigade. But nobody had mowed it for a while and tiny yellow wildflowers were fighting for sunshine amidst the cancerous grass. A swarm of insects was hopping from landing pad to landing pad, gorging on the nectar flowers used to pay for pollination services. Akin with many of the new housing developments, the estate had no drive or garage – it had arrived in the aftermath of the automobile craze. But it did have a garden path, which wove lazily toward the porch. Some habits died hard. Everyone wanted a front door, a path, and a gate.

  No security.Dan arched an eyebrow. It made it less likely that Adrian Miller still lived at the premises. He rang the doorbell, one hand inconspicuously gripping his colt inside his coat. A late-20-something male answered the door. “Yes?”

  No sense lying.“I’m looking for Adrian Miller.”

  He looked Dan up and down. “You don’t look like one of his friends.”

  “I’m his boss.” Dan lifted his chin to imitate conceit. “And if I don’t find him today he’ll have no job to return to Monday.”

  He had the biggest set of jug-ears Dan had ever seen. They looked like sails, driving him forward against his will. “Then if you find him, you can tell him his half of the rent is overdue.”

  “He hasn’t been around recently?” Dan squinted.

  “Nope.” He didn’t look like a lover. Dan suspected he was a just a roommate, someone to help pay the bills and watch the TV with. He wore parachute-material tracksuit pants and a baggy sweatshirt. With white socks to complete the picture, he looked as if he were be about to go jogging. “He hasn’t really lived here for ages. A lot of his stuff is still here, but he only turns up, oh… maybe one night in six.”

  “Do you know where he stays?” Dan tried to soften the pounding in his chest. He didn’t want to appear too desperate for the answer.

  But the jug-eared roommate shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t have the foggiest.”

  “How about his mobile number? I left my agenda in the office and never got around to programming my employees into my phone.” The excuse sounded lame to Dan, but jug-ears took the bait.

  “Yeah, sure. Wait a sec.” He ducked back into the house. Dan could see some furnishings from the door: spotless leather couches, a groomed carpet, plush rugs, and an ornate mirror in the foyer. “Here it is.” He slapped a torn corner of paper into Dan’s palm. “I tried it yesterday but didn’t get an answer.”

  “Okay, thanks. If I find him I’ll tell him about the rent.” Dan backed from the house and showed himself to the gate, latching it behind him.

  *

  Sunday, September 19, 2066

  5:42Sydney, Australia

  Samantha heard the phone; its shrill screech tugged her back to consciousness. But when she first woke, she was too weak to do anything about it. Cookie had wrapped his arms around her and she felt safe, warm and cosy in their nest. She just hoped the phone would stop.

  After another few rings, it did. And she smiled into the peaceful night. It was wondrously quiet in their safe house; nobody in the neighbourhood had caused any problems, yet. She was just drifting back into slumber when the ear-piercing ring started again, more irritating that before. Damn, whoever it is, they’re desperate.All she wanted was to relish the peace. Why can’t they give me that?

  She poked Cookie in the ribs and he grunted, shifting away from her and creating a crevasse of cold air that chilled her through her thin pyjamas. She snuggled deeper under the covers and frowned at the persistence of whoever was calling. It was up to the seventh ring already. She jabbed Cookie again and he snorted, half-snored, and rolled over once more. On her third attempt, she mercilessly stabbed him in his ribs and he woke with a jolt. “What?”

  “The phone’s ringing.”

  He relaxed. “So?” And rolled over.

  “Well aren’t you going to get it?” Samantha prompted.

  “Hadn’t planned on it.” Cookie took a deep breath and wriggled until he was comfortable, turning his back to her.

  Samantha’s frown freshened. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep with the phone ringing for the rest of the night. It was up to its twelfth ring when she pulled back the covers and a wave of goose bumps prickled her skin. She padded on bare feet through the unfamiliar house, holding her hands protectively in front of her to guard against running into things. As it was, she stubbed a little toe on the couch and cursed luridly – and loudly. Eventually she squatted to answer the phone… half a second too late. Nobody was on the other end.

  “Fuck.” She slammed the receiver onto its stand and rubbed feeling back into her toe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!
”

  She was halfway back to bed when the phone screamed for her attention again, and she bit the inside of her check to stop from cussing at the top of her lungs. Amazingly, her voice was calm when she spoke into the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Samantha?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Dan.”

  “Oh.” She was too tired to think of anything else to say.

  “Is Cookie there?”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “Can you get him for me? It’s important. I might have a way to find Jen.”

  “Hang on a second.” She left the receiver dangling and slapped a hand on the light switch before navigating back to their room. She found sadistic pleasure in jumping on the bed and shaking Cookie awake.

  “What?” He grumbled, frowning.

  “It’s Dan. He want’s to speak to you.”

  Cookie spent a long time lifting the fog from his mind before standing and walking to the lounge room. “Yes?” He wondered what was so pressing that Dan would risk alerting the New South Wales Police Department and Echelon of their whereabouts.

  “I need you to trace a number.”

  “Hang on.” Cookie nestled in front of his computer. “Okay, shoot.”

  *

  The Raven couldn’t contain his triumphant euphoria. Foolish, Dan. Very foolish.A flicker of glee trickled into his computer and traversed the nano-net to James’s terminal. Now the Raven knew where Samantha Lee and David Cooke were hiding. I have a choice to make,he thought rationally.Take Dan now, while he’s alone? Or go for the others while they have no protection?Uncertainty clouded his pragmatic mind and he raised his chin to the sky, imploring an omen to relieve him of the burden of choice. He shouldn’t be dabbling in these matters himself. They were for higher powers to decide and he would do whatever they entreated.

  *

  Saturday, September 18, 2066

  World Economic Forum

  16:02Washington DC, USA

  Weekend sessions never had a high turnout and Jackie liked to think that her attendance would win brownie points for UniForce. It was important that she do everything in her power to enhance her company’s chance of winning extra seats. And turning up to every session was an essential step towards that end. I could be watching the new Kane movie. It was sometimes hard living at the top. Sacrifices were often called for. Irritatingly, she knew none of the other weekend participants would work every day next week. They’d take a flexiday to compensate for their lost leisure time. But not me.

  Still, today’s session was important for more than one reason. She needed the floor and was waiting in the queue for her turn. Saturday was always an open forum day. Dignitaries collectively declined to lecture on weekends because they knew attendees didn’t have the patience to listen to their prattle while golf courses and grand finals beckoned. WEF dignitaries were typically terrified of yawning audiences that glanced longingly at the clock every few seconds.

  She’d already sat through tedious explanations of opinion polls and trade relations from companies she considered unimportant. But – no pain, no gain.She gritted her teeth and forced herself to look interested. At least I’m next.She wasn’t prone to catching a case of the nerves, but the calibre of the people in the room made her knees tremble. Snap out of it!she chided herself. You’re being silly. Either they’ll agree or they won’t. No harm done whatever happens. Jackie didn’t intend to pass over an excellent opportunity to spearhead UniForce into private security. And the opportunity was ripe; she just needed the balls to grab it.

  The man at the podium was talking about crime and thatwas an interesting topic. Making money from crime kept UniForce afloat. Much of their income came directly from the WEF, the organisation with the largest economic incentive to reduce criminal activity – particularly white-collar crime. The speaker was putting an interesting spin on the topic, incorrectly using a double-edged sword analogy. “On one side”, he said, “reducing crime directly oils the economic wheels. And now we’re seeing an additional pattern emerge. On the other side of the sword, a recent study suggests that reducing crime makes people more comfortable and therefore prone to spending more money. So as you can see, it cuts both ways.”

  Several attentive members of the audience wondered whether the speaker understood what ‘cuts both ways’ meant, but Jackie wasn’t one of them. Perfect,she thought with glee, fighting hard to stop a smile creeping across her cosmetic lips. I’ll use this.

  His speech turned even better a few moments later when he raised an acclaiming hand to Jackie’s seat. “And we owe a lot to UniForce for the benefits we’re all feeling. Their tireless pursuit of felons underpins much of our economy.”

  There was general agreement among the spectators with a few cheers and – rather British, Jackie thought – “here, here’s”. Now that was unexpected.A soft patter of clapping rippled around the auditorium and Jackie stood to acknowledge the praise, nodding to the left and right and trying her best to look appreciative without smiling. She would’ve preferred to scold them for daring to clap at her – she wished that custom would expire. But scolding would be unseemly, so she settled for a pained look of modesty.

  Finished his speech, the man at the podium left the platform and the chairman waddled ponderously forward to take his place. Fucking lard,Jackie couldn’t stop herself from mentally stabbing the man. She insulted everyone in her mind, why should she exempt the exercise-challenged?

  “Jackie Donald from UniForce,” he wheezed into the microphone before puffing away to resume his seat, which groaned in protest under his considerable mass. The sound of his rasping breath stirred a black memory – something she’d worked hard to forget and refused to admit was true upon unwelcome resurfacings. That rainy summer evening when she’d been strolling home through the park and three men had knocked her to the ground, tearing at her clothes. They’d raped her in the open, but nobody had been brave enough to acknowledge her screams for help. They’d worn hoods pulled tight over their heads and had huffed and puffed with the thrill of the illicit fuck. She’d blotted all trace of their faces from her memory, so thoroughly that not even a hypnotherapist had been able to reconstruct them. But she remembered the sharp pain from when they’d forced their way inside her. It wasn’t something she liked to dwell on so she flung the memory back into her psychological abyss, hoping it would stay there.

  Jackie strode to the podium amidst another round of applause, which abruptly ended when she adjusted the microphone amidst a squeal of feedback. By the time she was ready to begin, she’d forgotten all about the unmentionable crime, though it tortured her unseen from the shadows of her subconscious. Jackie was good at forgetting, she’d had a lifetime of practice.

  “By now I’m sure many of you have heard about the heinous attack terrorists have committed against my company.” A deathly silence settled on the room. She integrated a lengthy pause with her speech, knowing it would stretch their nerves to breaking point. “And for the benefit of those who haven’t, a terrorist organisation has assassinated UniForce’s public CEO.” It was a common practice. Many men and women in the room used puppets to vie for public affection and take the heat when things turned sour. Though few would suspect their public counterparts were potential assassination targets. “Furthermore…” Jackie held their attention, making it dance in the palm of her hand. “We have sustained persistent attacks upon our network from the same organisation.” She held up her hands, calming her audience like an accomplished orator. “But before you panic, I want to assure you that they have not – I stress, not– penetrated our network. They will never access our data.” It was a lie, but she couldn’t tell them the horrifying truth. Many of them were customers and frequent patrons of UniForce’s covert assassination branch. If they even suspected an outsider could hack into UniForce’s network and lift copies of assassination contracts, they’d bay for blood.

  “What does it mean then, exactly?” The question came from someone in the front r
ow. Jackie didn’t know his name, but suspected he was an assassination customer and therefore had much to lose.

  Jackie answered confidently, having prepared for the question. “Our network has sustained the attack in fine form. But, if these terrorists grow in sophistication, our information technology department may need to suspend some network services. And that would be bad for business. For everyone.” She watched several members of the audience relax. She’d told them what they wanted to hear: that UniForce would suffer monetary loss rather than harm future business prospects by exposing their colourful history to outsiders. Whatever happened, the deals were safe. Or so they assumed.

  “What I want from you, ladies and gentlemen, is to permit me – permit UniForce – to protect our way of life by extinguishing the terrorist threat.”

  “What dispensations are you looking for, specifically?” It was someone from Xantex who smelled a rat.

  She knew Xantex had a lot at stake. They’d been one of UniForce’s best customers. “We have a reaction team standing by and they’re working on a minimum-disruption solution as I speak.” She jotted a mental note to get an update. Her team had been suffocatingly quiet of late. James had done a superb job keeping her informed, but she hadn’t heard anything from the others for days. Jackie hated tardiness. “I don’t believe the specifics of their proposal will be relevant when we consider the ramifications of failing to act. Be assured that we’ll only do what’s necessary to bring the enemy threat under control.”

  Hook, line and sinker.She started to reel them in. “Over the next few days we may need to operate outside the law, which is why I am here today – I need sanction.” She needed more leeway than the criminal division of the WEF had commission to grant. For something of this magnitude, she had to go to open forum. “So, if there are no more questions, I suggest we vote.”

  She was gratified to note that all attendees reached for their control panel and dug a thumbnail into whichever button they thought most appropriate. Jackie held no illusions about the result; there couldn’t be more than a handful of scruples in the room. But she needed their approval all the same. Without it, UniForce would come under political fire – something she could ill afford. The results soon splashed onto the screen behind her. Eighty-nine percent voted to enact the sanction. Five percent voted against, probably because of the obscure nature of the request, and six percent failed to vote. Perfect.“Thank you for your careful consideration,” Jackie said, drawing blood on the inside of her lip to snuff a victorious smile.