Going Grey

by Karen Traviss

  Mike Brayne, on the lessons of history.

  VANCOUVER

  NOVEMBER.

  "Well, Zoe," Kinnery said, rubbing his eyes one-handed. "What can I do for you today?"

  He found it easier to take The Slide's calls and act the patronizing, amused, but honest scientist than to ignore Zoe Murray. After eight or nine conversations, he'd almost built a professional understanding with her. Did she have a bullying, knuckle-dragging news editor standing over her, making her do this? He preferred to think that she did. It took the adversarial sting out of the calls, and if he thought of her sympathetically then he was less likely to sound evasive.

  "The usual, Dr Kinnery," Zoe said. "I'm going to send you a link to a video clip and I'd just like a comment."

  "I liked the orc. That was really convincing. Not my handiwork, alas, but very clever CGI. I take it you've called KW-Halbauer too."

  "I always do, but they never respond. Sending now."

  It took Kinnery a few moments to access the web page, and the semi-literate caption told him all he needed to know. It was mall security footage.

  "What am I looking for this time?" he asked.

  "Check out the young man in the cap."

  Kinnery watched a scuffle between three youths at a mall. The boy in the cap got punched but hit back a lot harder. Kinnery was waiting for the boy to turn into something interesting, but he didn't. His attackers ran off.

  The guy looked about Ian's age, maybe a little older. Kinnery felt a slight prickle down his spine. But there were millions of young men in that age group. This wasn't the first clip Zoe had shown him with a young guy in it, either.

  "I didn't see it," Kinnery said, genuinely puzzled. "Hang on. Let me play it again."

  "It's there, I promise. Keep watching the kid in the cap."

  This time Kinnery noticed the words PORTON MACKAY on the video, probably the name of the mall. It was hard to see the boy's face under the peak of his cap, but this time Kinnery caught a change.

  Immediately after the guy took a punch, his head jerked around and, for a second or two, his cheekbones flared wider and his jaw got bigger. Maybe he'd turned paler, too, but it was hard to be sure. Then he seemed to deflate and darken, and suddenly he was back to how he'd looked a few seconds earlier. Kinnery could have blinked and missed it.

  "That was pretty dull," he said. Yes, it was odd, but there might have been an explanation beyond ham-fisted special effects. "Are you sure that wasn't just the light and the effect of being punched? Have you ever seen a boxer take a hard blow to the face?"

  "I did wonder. But would it look like that at normal playback speed?"

  "It's possible. If it's a spoof, it's pretty unimaginative."

  "Well," Zoe said, "it's the fact that it's so marginal that intrigued me. Whoever posted that really believed it."

  Kinnery had gotten airy dismissal down to a fine art. "People sincerely believe the most ludicrous things. If I really could build shape-shifters, though, I'd make them a lot more versatile than that. Anything else?"

  "Apart from the fact that it probably came from a mall in Maine about a week ago, no."

  It took a moment for Kinnery's brain to catch up. He suddenly felt out of control, struggling for air. It could have been a terrible coincidence and the boy in the video probably wasn't Ian at all, but he simply didn't know. He had no idea what Ian looked like now. He had to shrug this off like all the other videos and not let his panic leak into his voice.

  "Sorry that I can't be more help," he said.

  "You're always remarkably patient, considering that you think this is nonsense, Dr Kinnery."

  "It's actually quicker to answer your questions than to try to dodge you." Am I babbling? Stop it. "I imagine you're under pressure to deliver stories."

  "Well, thank you," Zoe said. "Good afternoon."

  After she rang off, Kinnery sat with his hand to his mouth for a few moments before he managed to marshal his thoughts. He needed to know if the boy in the video was Ian. He'd have to call Leo, and the rules of engagement with the senator were strict for both their sakes. Calls were for emergencies only. But that video definitely qualified as one.

  It took Kinnery three calls to catch Leo. "I need to forward you a link to a video," he said, lapsing into their private code. "It came from a person with a persistent interest. I can't verify the subject matter."

  "Understood," Leo said. "I'll get back to you."

  Kinnery put the link in an encrypted attachment, unsure if that was much protection these days even for correspondence with a senior politician, but it made no sense to skip it. If Leo confirmed that was Ian, then there were more calls to be made. Kinnery would have to contact Shaun and find out if Zoe had approached him.

  It was no idle fear. Against the odds, Dru Lloyd had eventually identified Maggie and located the ranch. If she was made aware of that video, then she'd find the mall too. She wouldn't know about the Braynes, though.

  Leo rang back just over an hour later, again without greeting or preamble.

  "I'm confirming," he said. "You have to leave it to me now. Please don't make any further contact for the time being."

  So it was Ian. Kinnery's chest felt like a collapsing building. "I'll call the company and tell them I'm being pestered by the media," he said. "Just to cover the bases."

  "Okay. Goodbye."

  Leo ended the call as abruptly as he'd started it. Kinnery had no idea what timetable he might be working on or how far this would go, and if he didn't call Shaun now to say that The Slide had been in touch, it would look suspicious.

  No, he'd call Dru Lloyd instead. That would be what a man would do if he felt this was a minor annoyance for a minion to deal with. If he took it up with Shaun when he hadn't pursued the other approaches with him, it would simply set alarm bells ringing. If he got Dru to take a video call, though, he could record some images to send them to Mike Brayne for identification purposes in case she showed up.

  Jesus, am I really scared of that woman? She's a hundred pounds soaking wet. She's a glorified clerk. I'm treating her like she's a goddamn SEAL.

  Kinnery sent her an e-mail to set up a call. If Shaun did things by video, then so would she. She'd probably never work out what he was doing it for. If she made excuses to avoid using a webcam, though, he'd have to assume she was thinking along the same lines as he was, and that wouldn't bode well.

  But she seemed happy to take the call. Kinnery practiced recording images a few times and peeled the Blu Tack off the webcam. When she picked up and he saw her for the first time in months, he almost didn't recognise her. She'd changed her hair. Colour and cut shouldn't have made such a difference to someone's face, but it did.

  "Hi, Mrs Lloyd." He started the recording. "Are you still getting calls from Zoe Murray?"

  Dru paused. "Mr Weaver is, but we're not commenting."

  "Well, she just called me again. I'm being as polite as I can, but she doesn't know I'm going be working with you. So I'd appreciate some guidance for the future."

  "I'll work out something with our public affairs people."

  "Thank you."

  "There's such a thing as no comment, you know, Dr Kinnery."

  "That just triggers their digging reflex." Kinnery clicked discreetly on the STOP icon and checked he had at least a freeze frame sitting there in the app window. Got it. Good. "I was given a tip that the best way to deal with media was to be voluble until they got bored and hung up first."

  "Interesting technique, but very hard not to let something slip."

  "If you have nothing to let slip, it's perfectly safe." Kinnery surprised himself by coming back with exactly the smart response he needed. "And I haven't."

  He looked for some reaction in Dru's face, but he didn't know her well enough yet to read her. All he could do was assume the worst and prepare for it.

  Dru shrugged. "They'll always make something out of it, whatever you say. I think it's probably time to become unavailable for comment, tho
ugh."

  After he ended the call, Kinnery tried to divine some meaning from the conversation and gauge what she was up to, but it was impossible. He picked a few stills and the best short clip from the recording and mailed it to Leo. Now he was out of the game.

  He tried to imagine what Shaun would do in the unlikely event that they traced Ian to Mike's house, but he simply didn't know. Shaun had never been squeamish about bending rules. The stakes were much higher now.

  Kinnery went back to the video from the mall and played it again, looking for reasons not to worry. Now that the initial panic had given way to a quieter anxiety, he focused on what he was actually watching.

  This was Ian, his creation and his crime, out in the world on his own for the first time. The Braynes hadn't shared any information about his progress or even his health. It was odd to see him and not be able to recognise anything about him except his ability to morph.

  Kinnery replayed the clip five or six times, mesmerized. Was that the limit of Ian's morphing, or was he reining it in? Had he lost control under stress? He seemed to be able to revert to a previous form. It was fascinating. Kinnery knew that it was better if he never found out how far the morphing went, but part of him was consumed by the need. Only one thing mattered, though. Ian looked fit and confident, a strong young man able to take care of himself at last.

  Kinnery knew he wasn't entitled to be proud, but despite that, he was.

  CHALTON FARM, WESTERHAM FALLS

  NEXT MORNING, NOVEMBER.

  Rob wasn't in the guest cottage, and he wasn't answering his phone. His car was still in the garage. If he hadn't gone for a run on his own without leaving a note on the fridge, then Mike had no idea where he was.

  Mike checked the security monitors. After a few minutes, the recording light came on and Rob appeared on one of the screens, scarf pulled up over his mouth. He must have been freezing. He was testing the camera by pacing back and forth in front of it.

  Livvie walked up behind Mike to watch. "He's a gem."

  "He never trusts any kit he hasn't checked himself. Don't worry. Nobody's going to show up with mortars."

  "I'm not worried, I'm disappointed." Livvie held out her phone to show him the images of Dru Lloyd that Dad had forwarded. "I was expecting a wisecracking Lauren Bacall type with a smoky voice, trench coat, and stilettos. She's kind of... well, fluffy."

  "She's still purely theoretical. We don't know if she'll ever find us."

  Livvie did a few mock right hooks to Mike's chest. "I've got reach and ten pounds on her. I could take her any time."

  "Sure, honey. And you get to eat what you kill." Mike tried to keep it light. All this could prove to be an overreaction. "I'm going to catch Rob. Is Ian okay?"

  "Still beating himself up over it."

  "I'll talk to him."

  "I'm doing that." She took Mike's beanie out of his pocket and pulled it down on his head. "Keep your ears warm. I don't care if you look goofy."

  Mike estimated Rob's next location in the chain of cameras and set out for the woods on the western boundary. Since Dad had called about the mall video, Mike had built up a head of steam and was now at a steady simmering anger.

  You want to come after me and my family? Go ahead. See what happens.

  He kicked through the frosted grass, seething. His money and influence couldn't do a damn thing to head this off at the pass. Any action he took would reveal that he knew what was coming, and why. He had to wait for KWA to break cover. Being powerless was an authentic regular-guy experience, the first that he hadn't volunteered for and that he couldn't bypass if it got too tedious.

  This was his home, for fuck's sake. He refused to be held under permanent siege by a bunch of glorified pharmacists. If KWA so much as exhaled in the direction of his family, he'd declare war. This was about tribe. It was about Dad and Livvie and Rob and Ian, and Ian was the victim in all this. His unique skills, marvellous as they were, had come from a monstrous and illegal act.

  Mike walked through the trees, looking for the cameras. How could Dru make a connection between the mall and this house? She'd need a reason to link the Brayne name to the video. That was less likely, but it wasn't impossible if she'd found Maggie by going back forty years to some university yearbook. If she went back to day one of Project Ringer, she might do the same with Dad, and eventually find a link. The security cam ident provided enough information for anyone with time, patience, and investigative skills to find all the Portons in the country and then eventually narrow it down. Finding Mackay Plaza wouldn't be a stretch for her.

  We keep a low profile. We don't post anything online. But we're in the phone book. Even if we'd been unlisted, we're on the electoral roll.

  Mike scanned the trees for movement and solid outlines. Rob probably wasn't trying to hide, but he'd still minimize himself as a target without even thinking. Eventually Rob's olive green jacket resolved out of the vertical lines of the trees.

  "Hey buddy."

  Rob wandered up him. "I thought it'd be a good idea to get a security regime going."

  "We can't buy in extra help. We're not supposed to know we've got a problem."

  "Never mind. We're hairy-arsed enough to do this ourselves."

  "That's the question. Do what ourselves?"

  "It's worse than Afghan ROE, isn't it? Just got to sit and wait for them to start it."

  Mike could feel the cold in his teeth. He tucked his chin into his collar. "One – we live permanently under counter-stalker measures. Two – we wait for them to make a mistake and call the cops. Three – we make them make a mistake."

  Rob nodded. "Forget one and two. I'm all for three. Personally, in a saner world, I'd press option four."

  "Would that be your council estate rules of engagement?"

  "Yeah. Go after the fuckers and teach them some manners. But I'll settle for option three for the time being."

  "Agreed. Anything that enables me to call the police. Then they've got to explain why they're after us or back off. Either kicks them into touch."

  "We'll still have to look over our shoulders for the rest of our lives."

  "We do that anyway."

  They sat on a wooden gate, all that was left of an old fence that had probably marked a field boundary in the past. It was wonderfully peaceful, a frost-glazed Christmas card of a landscape. Crows rasped in the distance. The early morning sun added gilded highlights. It was incongruously pretty for what was going through Mike's mind right then.

  "Oh arr," Rob said, exaggerating his accent. "This makes Oi feel prahper rural, this do."

  "You taking bets?"

  "A tenner says she locks on to us within a week. She's got Ian's name and she can't fit it into Kinnery's cover story." Rob didn't have to say who she was any longer. "And that means they know they've got a working prototype, not just a mule."

  "I won't let these bastards intimidate me."

  "I'll sort it. It's my fault."

  "Here we go again. You want me to hold your coat while you beat yourself up?"

  "I brought this trouble to your door, mate. Let me redeem myself."

  "Let's get the blame straight here. Kinnery broke every law in the book. Ian's the victim. We're the guys who rescued him. The good guys. Got it?"

  "Doesn't alter the fact that I pushed him too fast."

  "Rob, it was just bad luck."

  "Well, we can't piss our pants every time the doorbell rings. So we take the battle to them. The hard bit is doing that without confirming they're on the right track."

  "Whatever they do, it won't be legal They can't ask a judge to sign a warrant for a DNA sample."

  Rob nodded, squinting into the sun. "And Ian's welded to their property whether he wants it or not. Okay, back to plan A for abduction."

  Mike was war-gaming some ugly scenarios involving the kind of guys that Esselby tried not to hire. "I don't even know if they need him alive."

  "Even if they do, abductions don't always go as planned, Zombie. Remember?
"

  "Rings a painful bell, yes."

  "So how would we do it?"

  "Keep the place under surveillance for a few weeks. Identify the best time and place for a snatch and what we'd need to do it cleanly."

  "Don't tell me you didn't plot lines of sight when you bought the house."

  "Of course I did."

  "My hero." Rob slid down from the gate. "I scoped out some observation points this morning. You've got a bloody good arc from the workshop roof, and a good view of the road from the top of the assault course, but not as much cover. So that's two OPs, and we can redirect the cams and sensors accordingly."

  "Dru won't have the skills to find an OP in a rural location and lay up for an extended period," Mike said. "Especially in this weather. She hasn't got a uniformed background, according to Kinnery. She's just a desk jockey."

  Rob beckoned him to walk on. "No, she'll ask around in Westerham. Intercept a postman and ask innocent questions. Reporter tactics."

  "Then what? If it's an abduction, she won't be the one doing it."

  "What's your dad thinking?"

  "I promised him I'd ask for help if I needed it."

  "But you won't."

  "I can handle this myself."

  "We can handle it ourselves." Rob skidded down a steep slope to reach a shallow gully between the trees. "You should have fenced the whole estate and put in point vibration sensors. It'd be worth all the false alarms. I know you don't like to advertise that you're worth raiding, but you can take this ordinary bloke shit too far, you know."

  "What are we going to do about Tom?"

  Rob went quiet for a while. "You want me to call off the trip?"

  "God, no. But he'll notice something's going on, so we need a cover story."

  "What? Stalker? Paparazzi?"

  "Maybe."

  "Look, if it all goes tits up, I can take Ian back to the UK to lie low for a while. I'll introduce him to pubs. Proper football. Women. My old oppos. He'll enjoy it."