by Simon Royle
“I see. And is Jonah Oliver in immediate danger?”
“That is harder to predict, although we do think that he will be the first target and he won’t simply be killed – he will be made to disappear.”
Marty spun around in the Biosense without otherwise moving and, still sitting cross-legged, faced Cochran.
How does she do that? Cochran thought, with the quick hot flush along her cheekbones, and said, deadpan, eyeballing Marty, “Well I am sure you are on the right track, but we really aren’t in any better position than we were a week and a half ago, are we?” Cochran pointed her Devstick at Marty.
“No, I wouldn’t say that, Sharon. We have narrowed down the focus of this trace into a very specific area. We have identified the runner and identified the most likely target of his actions. We’ve also figured out how he escaped right from under your nose.” Sitting in a perfect Lotus position, her face without expression, Marty's words hung in the air. Dom and Fatima cringed but didn’t say anything and avoided looking at Cochran.
Her record until Gabriel had been perfect, and then the impossible had happened. Escape from the Deep. Until then it was thought to be impossible. That’s why when the trembler alarm went off, the guard, under the command of Cochran, had ignored it as a malfunction.
The jagged hole in her reputation gagged in her consciousness. Frowning and turning her Devstick over end to end, Cochran said, “Supposing for a moment that this theory of yours is true, does Jonah’s recent trip to the Moon have anything to do with this?”
“Yes. We think it’s possible that Gabriel hypnotized Jonah in the White Room and planted the suggestion that he visit the Nineveh Resort.”
The Devstick spun just a little faster. “So wouldn’t this indicate an urgent need to provide UNPOL protection for Jonah Oliver?”
“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea – I think you’re missing the point.”
Cochran’s nostril’s flared, the spin of the Devstick just a little harsher, and she said in a flat tone, “No, Martin, I think you’re missing the point, but please go ahead, tell us. What is your point?”
Marty’s posture straightened just that little bit more. Her gender re-assignment was common knowledge to the gang, but outside it wasn’t, and no one inside or out called her Martin.
“Agent Cochran, my name is pronounced Mar-teen, not tin, and I’ll thank you to remember that if you want one iota of contribution from me in the future – and that takes into account your likely promotion to Director.”
Stanislav said, “Ma, ma, ma, ma, me too.”
Dom and Fatima nodded their heads in unison.
“Martine, please forgive me. That was uncalled for, and unkind. Please accept my profound and sincere apology.”
Dom and Fatima’s heads stopped nodding and they turned, in unison to look at Marty.
Marty felt the lie beneath the sincerity, but now was not the time to take this bitch down. There would come a time.
“I accept your apology, Sharon. Please let’s forget this incident ever happened. So to answer your question as to what is my point, I would say that the point was bait. We know that Gabriel is going to come after Jonah. The fact that he made it back from the Moon means that Gabriel wants Sir Thomas to suffer for a while, before he makes his move. But if we shroud Jonah in protection, then he may pull back from Jonah and go straight for Sir Thomas.”
“Bait?” the surprise in Cochran’s voice was clear to them all. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t thought of using Jonah as bait.
“Yes, bait. Put a shield around Jonah but make it invisible, and sooner or later Gabriel is going to try to penetrate that shield. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to stop him.”
“Lucky?”
“Sure. Gabriel might be crazy but so far he’s shown he is a brilliant operator, Sharon.”
Cochran nodded her head, the casual use of her first name rankled her system somewhere and was stored away for future damage creation but right now her systems were running on full, thinking about the possible scenarios that would involve Sir Thomas. She needed more information before she could go to him with this. What she had wasn’t enough.
Cochran looked at Marty, her hands still on the table. “What next?”
“We have a gap of 36 years to fill in Gabriel’s life. If we can get more detail on that then we will have a better handle on predicting his moves. We plan to start in on that next.”
“I see. Well, time is of the essence so I suggest we call this review to an end and get working this problem. I’d like to see a list of your proposed solutions to this investigation by midnight.”
“Sharon, in our calculations for the time we require to come up with a solution, I’ve taken into account the fact that this is Fatima’s birthday and we’re taking the night off. We’ll be back on by the midday shift tomorrow, but otherwise I agree that this review is over. I just can’t say exactly when you’ll get our list.”
I’m going to fry this little creet when this is over, Cochran thought, but smiled at the Gang of Four, one by one, as they waited for her answer.
“Of course, how silly of me. I completely forgot.” She looked at Fatima, who flushed a deep red at being the object of the undercurrent of tension in the room.”It is, isn’t it? Well happy birthday to you. I hope it is a happy and –” looking hard at Marty, “– a healthy year for you.” She rose from the Biosense and walked out of the room.
The others looked at Marty and smiled. She raised one eyebrow with a flick and said, “Let’s go.”
Fifteen minutes later they’d collected their belongings from the Cave and were back down at ground level outside the central Lev port on Jurong. Dom, Fatima and Stanislav shared an Envspace in Orchard Towers. The party they’d been planning for Fatima would start at 10pm.
Dom said to Marty, “Are you coming with us?”
With a brusque shake of her head, Marty said, “No, you guys go ahead. I need a shower after that meeting and I’ve got a couple of things to do but I’ll be over there before ten. OK?”
They split up: Dom, Fatima and Stanislav for their Env in Orchard while Marty walked north. She lived in an Env that was designated as Commspace – a warehouse on the northern shore of Jurong Island. From UNPOL Headquarters, it was about a three and a half kilom walk.
Marty competed professionally at race walking and the walk to her Env was great practice. Before setting out, she stopped to stretch. She was tall at one hundred and seventy eight cent, something she thanked the errant Y chromosome that had given her manhood. She called it gender realignment, not assignment. Her mind was not meant to be in a male body. She was female, had been for a thousand years, or at least that was her understanding. The surgery had taken twelve weeks from her life, lying in regen while the mistake was rectified.
When she’d come out of regen and first stood on wobbly knees in front of a mirror looking at her twenty-one year old female body, it was perfect. Everything had come out as she’d envisioned. The regen had been painful, frustrating and boring, the last being the worst she had to bear, but it had all been worth it and now, thirteen years later, she stretched out a long smooth tanned leg and eased her fingertips down to her toes. The pose stopped a few males and females in their tracks as her short outers tightened around her taut buttocks. It was an inviting sight, but one that was swiftly over as she tidied up her warm up exercises and straightening, began walking at a furious pace.
Fifteen minutes later she was moving at about eight kilos per hour on the home stretch along the wharf to her Env. The dockies yelled her in, chanting, “Go, go, go,” as she hurled herself with full pelvis rotations at the imaginary finish line in front of the warehouse that housed her Env. Dropping her arms as she crossed the line to the cheers of the dockies on the deck of the ocean hauler tied up at the wharf, she shook off the walk and eyed her Dev. It unlocked her door and she went in, turning to her left and striding to the far corner, she climbed the stairs to the second-story landing that fronted the spa
ce she had leased.
The space was huge and after she entered the gap left by the double metal doors, each six meters high, she walked across the measured one thousand meter track that she had painted onto the floor around the circumference of the room. In the middle of this space, she had built a large single room that contained her Devcockpit, sleeper and hygiene facilities with outlet. She thought of this room as her cabin, sound-proofed against the noise of the adjoining wharf. Outside, in the warehouse area, the room was filled with her hobbies. Plants grew in various stages all over the space under the nutritious light of grow lamps bought at discount on e-cred. The cooking range and exhaust she’d built herself out of brick and metal, as a prelude to her sculptures, for which she had a following among those who liked their art large and meaningful.
It was 6pm. She went into the cabin and, stripping off, headed straight for the shower. The shower was a slate room of three meters squared. High above it in the rafters of the warehouse hung a huge shower head a meter across.
She said, “Shower,” and the water dropped like a waterfall. Toweling herself off she looked in the mirror, searching for any fat or wrinkles, knowing she wouldn’t find any. Her short black hair was spiky from the water. She stepped into the drier sanitizing unit and blew herself dry on full blast, the upwards draft of the slightly warm air blowing tenacious droplets off her.
Walking back into the main room of the cabin, she flopped down across her sleeper and reached for a Devstick on the side table. The Devstick looked like an ordinary one, but it would explode and fragment if the wrong key was entered. She keyed in a sixteen digit code and the Devstick came to life. She selected her mother’s ID and, choosing message, typed:
Investigation now focused on known threats to TBO.
She waited, lying naked fully stretched out, looking at what she’d entered, the Devstick in both hands, and then she thumbed encrypt and submit. She paused, brushed a hand through her hair, and selecting another contact, typed, I miss you, pressed encrypt and send.
Chapter 19
Love
Coughington and Scuttle Corp HQ, 4th floor, C&S Building, Clarke Street, New Singapore
Friday 20 December 2109, 5:30pm +8 UTC
I walked into the Scuttles outer office area at 5:30pm and said, “Dora, is Bill in?” I knew he was, I could see his profile indicating contribution in my Devstick, but it was a matter of form that we allowed the assistants to interpret our mood for seeing or not seeing visitors.
“Hi, Jonah. Yes he is. Would you like some tea? He’s drinking a coffee and catching up on the feeds just now,” she said and reaching under her Clearfilm desk pressed a button that opened the door to Bill’s space.
“Er, no thanks. This shouldn’t take too long,” I said as I walked past her into Bill’s contribution space. The view out of the double windows of the converted Chinese shop house showed Clarke Quay with the Singapore river in the background, curving down to Bonham Place. Bill sat at the far end of the room on an easy chair. The room was white but the furniture was black. It reminded me a little of the White Room. The heels of my shoes sounded loud on the painted white wooden floorboards as I walked the floor between us.
Bill’s face registered a slight puzzled frown, quickly replaced by a smile, as he saw my casual attire. It wasn’t what I normally wore to my contribution.
“Jonah, good to see you back – hope that business with UNPOL got resolved all right?” Bill said.
Bill Scuttle was the Senior Partner of Coughington and Scuttle, and a friend of Sir Thomas. It was my uncle who suggested that I contact Bill for a contribution when I first arrived in New Singapore back in July of 2105. At sixty-five years old, Bill still ran the New Singapore marathon every year and was always a serious contender in his age group. His shock of white hair off-set his ruddy, tanned face, showing off his preference for an outdoors lifestyle.
“Yes, thanks. It sort of resolved itself. Anyway, it’s out of my scope of responsibility now,” I said and stepped forward to sit down in the chair about two meters opposite to his. It was comfortable and deep, the arms were broad enough that you didn’t have to worry about your elbow slipping off the edge while you talked.
“Bill, I’m going to resign my contribution here at Coughington and Scuttle. I wanted to tell you before anyone else.”
Bill leant forward in his seat and put his elbows on his knees, steepling his hands in front of him. It was a posture I’d seen many times before. A delaying action while he gathered his thoughts – and usually those thoughts were very sharp.
“If this is about your share of the settlement of the Schilling vs. Bauer case, you know that I would happily talk to the Board on your behalf.”
I smiled and shook my head.
“No, it isn’t about that. My share was more than generous, thank you very much. I’m just not happy doing this anymore and I need a change.”
“Well this is very sudden. When were you planning on leaving us?”
“Today. Now,” I said, and looked him in the eye. He had sat in enough conferences with me to know that look. I had perfected it and trained its reputation for years. It was my ‘this is my final offer’ look and I knew he got it when he smiled.
Bill stood up in front of me and I rose immediately. He said, “It’s been a pleasure contributing with you Jonah. I wish you every success and I am sure that whatever form of contribution you try your hand at next, you will be successful. I will miss having you here. Your insight and attitude have always been a source of inspiration for us all. Please keep in touch and tell us how you are now and then.”
I gave Bill a deep wai, pressing my hands together, raising the fingertips to my lips, bowing my head and bending from the waist. Bill returned my wai and smiled. I said, “Can I leave the announcement of my departure to you?”
“Of course you can. Don’t you worry about that – you go off and find happiness, Jonah,” he said, clapping me on the back with his hand.
I turned and walked out of his space with tears in my eyes, and strode swiftly past Dora and her enquiring glance so that she couldn’t see them.
I felt really grateful to Bill for not making a fuss about my leaving. His parting words were kind and I also felt a great sense of relief, like a huge weight had lifted from my shoulders. I clacked my way down the wooden stairs, too impatient to wait for the old style elevator that ran up and down the four stories of the shop house, and burst out of the building on to North Boat Quay.
Mariko was sitting where I had left her fifteen mins ago, drinking a beer at a white cast-iron table on the Quay. I walked swiftly over to her. She looked great. She must have changed at the UNPOL Complex before leaving, as the white cotton summer dress she had on was definitely not standard UNPOL issue.
She looked at me with those huge green eyes of hers and said, “How did it go?”
“Great. He took it like the true gentleman that he is and said some really nice things to me,” I said, smiling at her, looking to see how much beer she had left in the bottle. She saw my look and picking up the bottle drained it with one long swallow.
She stood, and taking my hand said, “Let’s go.”
We walked up North Boat Quay, through the gathering early evening drinks crowd settling themselves into bars around the quay. The evening sun reflected gold off the mirrored windows of the towers across the canal.
“Any regrets?” Mariko asked, smiling.
“No, none,” I said, smiling in return. In the evening light her color looked stunning, a deep gold sheen to her skin; her long black hair flowing out behind her as she strode up the hill. Since returning from the Moon, we had spent all of our time together except for when she had to go to her contribution at UNPOL. That had surprised me, especially when she’d told me of contributing in the Special Operations Executive, the elite operational arm of UNPOL. I pushed a bit harder to keep pace with her.
“In a hurry?” I asked. She laughed. We had established a slight banter in the week we had been tog
ether and this was a frequent question of mine. She slowed down, turning around, walking backwards.
“Well the sooner we get there the better,” and reached out with a hand for mine, her face scrunched up as she mimicked a show of pulling me along. A guy passing smiled at me. I sensed envy in his eyes and smiled back at him, trying to avoid feeling smug.
We reached the Lev port and joined the queue standing close, our chests touching. She looked up at me her hands around my waist. She bumped her waist against mine and gave me a cheeky grin that caused the dimples in her cheeks to show. I smiled down into her eyes and raised my eyebrows twice and grinned as if to say ‘yeah sure, let’s do it’, calling her teasing bluff. She pulled back immediately and gave me a mock glare, with a swift glance around to see if anyone in the queue had seen the exchange.
The queue in front of us cleared and we were able to get into the Lev port door set into the wall of Citiplex, the Ent headquarters for Citibank. The harsh bright aluminum interior of the Lev contrasted with the soft evening light outside. Orange plastic molded seats ran down each side of the Lev with the hand bar and red straps running the length of the Lev down its middle for the standing passengers. We held onto the same red strap, my hand enfolding hers. The door beeped three times and sealed shut with a loud hiss and then the Lev smoothly accelerated, giving us a good excuse to sway together. Again she ground her waist into mine and this time to more effect as I widened my eyes to let her know what had happened. The grin wrinkled around her eyes in full knowledge of what she had achieved and with an impish look she swayed away and looked down. I smiled and using my free arm pulled her into me again breathing deep the smell of her hair.
I lost track of the number of stops between the Quay and Changi but it was at least four or five and then she nudged me and I opened my eyes. We stepped out on the level five platform at Changi and I checked my Devstick.
