The Dome’s landing zone was two clicks away. He came in slow and steady. The shuttle’s auto-piloting system managing the speed and angles perfectly. The access area loomed into view, and he finally let his muscles relax. Despite what had gone in, it still felt like returning home, or at least more like home than the station.
The shuttle reduced its speed, engaged its VTOL, Vertical Take Off and Lift engines, and settled down on a Steelcrete landing pad.
He sat up, took a deep breath, and waited for the nausea to pass.
***
Gerry eased out of the cockpit, pushed the door up and over his head. On shaky legs he made his way down the ladder to the landing pad. Rows of similar shuttles were lined up next to his. Behind the landing pad, looming into the air, the control tower stood like a great mushroom with its indomitable grey tube and wide flat dish on top. The morning sun, still rising from the east, shone on the tower, casting long shadows over the low, flat-roofed buildings that made up the offices of the city’s aviation centre.
A group of two men and a woman, wearing the usual grey and blue City Earth aviation security uniforms, stood like sentinels waiting for him. He recognised the woman as the ex-military spec guard who worked at Cemprom. She was the same one who had started his journey into the underworld. The one who crashed a stun-baton against his head when he dared question the validity of his D-lottery numbers coming up, despite being the algorithm designer and therefore exempt.
Looks like she got a promotion.
He approached slowly, waiting for his legs to readjust to solid ground. A refreshing cool breeze blew against his skin, providing sweet relief to the artificial atmosphere of the station and shuttle. Although he had to remind himself that the breeze was the result of the Dome’s filtration and fan system. It wasn’t as real as it seemed. Nothing in the Dome was.
The security detail stood about fifty meters away, waiting patiently, hands behind their backs. Dark sunglasses hid their eyes. He didn’t recognise the two men. He ran a check on their ID, hooking into City Earth’s resource database. The Family had given him higher security clearance than he had while working for Cemprom.
- Run ID Scans on the two guards, Mags, he said once he confirmed his connection to the system.
- Running.
Although it was a command within his mind to his AIA, it was translated into machine code.
That’s what made him unique: the ability to spin code directly from his mind and traverse and exist within networks as if he were nothing but binary data. It was also what set him apart from The Family’s AI constructs, and even Enna’s transcendents. They were ultimately bound by processing limitations.
He was something approaching posthuman. And ultimately, that’s why The Family wanted him and Petal back at the station: so they could engineer more like him, using the tech that lay dormant within her.
Gerry had asked Amma and her engineers why they couldn’t replicate what they had done to him: implant the same AIA and neural nano network into young kids.
Amma replied, “If we could do that, Gerry, we would have. You’re different. Whereas the other children could interface with their AIA, use it like a computer. None were one with it like you. You are your AIA and vice versa. It’s in your DNA, not just an implant. We can’t replicate that reliably yet. You were a one-off. But between you and Petal’s ability to shape and manipulate DNA we could synthesise what makes your brain special and develop it for the good of all humankind.”
Basically, Gerry thought, I’m a fluke, a freak of tampered-nature.
‘The good of all humankind’ was a favourite phrase amongst The Family. He supposed the more they said it, the more they would believe it. He wasn’t so convinced.
— Scan complete, Mags said.
Two names appeared on his AO: Bran and Malik Silverman: Thirty-two years old. Non-identical twins. Exempt from the lottery for services to security, limited AIA integration, physically enhanced, trained in weapons and unarmed combat.
Gerry approached and stood in front of them. When none of them moved, Gerry said. “Hey.”
Bran stepped forward, held out a hand. “Glad to have you back with us, Mr Cardle.”
His handshake was limp. He wore his dark hair in a close-shaved buzz cut, just like his brother. The woman officer had her blonde hair in a ponytail. As Bran and Gerry shook hands, she took off her specs, analysed Gerry, and sized him up.
“We’ve been assigned to work with you,” Bran said. “What can we do for you first, Mr Cardle?” His tone was friendly, relaxed. His brother, Malik wore a friendly, welcoming smile.
“No offense, but I’d like you all to stay out of my way. That would be a good start.” That was aimed at the woman, who gave Gerry her best sneer. “But right now, a place to base my operations would be helpful,” he added, not wanting to be complete douche about things.
Bran and his brother Malik turned to look at their colleague, giving her an inquisitive look.
“We have history,” she finally said. She stepped forward, held out her hand. “I’m sorry about what happened, Mr Cardle.”
Gerry knew she wasn’t. He didn’t need an AIA to know she was lying.
“I’m Elaine,” she continued. “I’ve been tasked to your squad during your stay in the Dome.” Her face reverted to a neutral expression.
Gerry refused her hand, nodded. “I’m sure you are sorry, Elaine. But consider yourself relieved of your duty. That goes for all of you. I don’t want all this—” he widened his arms to encompass them all. “This fuss. I prefer to work alone. I don’t want a squad. Nothing personal, but the last time I worked with a group of people, it didn’t end so well.”
Bran coughed, shifted nervously. “If you would like to follow me, Mr Cardle, we’ll get you set up. You must be dying to get started on…” He raised an eyebrow, left a pause for Gerry to fill in the blank.
“Yes,” Gerry said, refusing to give then any information. The less anyone knew about his mission the better. He didn’t trust anyone within City Earth, least of all the security departments. Anything he was up to would surely be analysed and beamed back to The Family in their station.
***
The security entourage led him from the port towards a secure tower usually reserved for governmental officials and heads of various departments such as economic affairs, healthcare, parks and open-spaces, security.
The tower stood by itself in a perfectly maintained woodland and grass-covered park. Not a leaf blew out of place or a piece of litter scudded the breeze. Even the trees were trimmed and shaped. They might as well have been models. The place oozed a sense of unreality, a stark contrast to the dead, brown forests a few miles outside of the city.
A group of well-behaved children, led by a teacher, walked through the park. Every kid remained quiet and calm as they walked in single file listening to the teacher rattle off facts about photosynthesis and the importance of trees. He realised then how sanitised life had become in the Dome.
He wondered whereabouts in the city his own kids were. He had to remind himself that they weren’t his kids. The whole setup had been faked. They probably had their memories of him wiped and replaced with one of a new family. He wondered if anyone in the Dome actually conceived a child. Perhaps they were manufactured and handed out by The Family’s scientists.
And the worst thing was that everyone seemed happy with it. The kids and the teacher smiled, relaxed. Even his security detail, excluding the ever-scowling Elaine of course, found time to flash a smile or wave to various citizens as they walked through the park, or came and went from the tower.
Gerry looked away from the kids, tried to forget, and refocused on finding Petal.
“What number am I in?” Gerry asked as they approached the foyer of the apartment building. A cheerful man in a black and white suit stood by the door. He opened it and tipped his hat for each resident who entered or exited.
“It’s all on here,” Bran said, sending Gerry his credentials acros
s his personal network. An icon flashed on his AO: Room 34, Floor 21.
“Your ID is registered,” Malik said. “Just present your dermal implant to the head of security in the first instance so that they can tie that to the room’s security and then you’re good to go.”
“Fine. I’ve got it. Thanks. You can all go now,” Gerry said. He stood, stared at the three security members, and waited.
“We need to escort you in,” Elaine said. “Orders from above.”
“I’m a big boy. I think I can work an elevator. Thank you for meeting me at the pad and walking me to the apartment building, but I’m sure you could be doing something more useful now.”
Just get lost, Gerry thought. He didn’t want these drones following his every move.
Bran and Malik stepped forward as if ushering him into the building, all the while trying their best not to look like threatening assholes. It failed. So City Earth security officers were all alike, after all. No surprise there really.
“We insist,” Malik said. “The least we can do for a member of The Family.”
It was clear to Gerry that they despised him, thought this was beneath their abilities. The doorman must have sensed the tension. His smile dropped and he observed the situation while removing his hands from behind his back.
Gerry ran an ID scan. A second later the data came back: Presley Langford: Forty-seven years old. Combat protocol transcendent. Later design of the NearlyMen.
Damn it. They had him locked down. He’d only been back a few minutes and already wished he were outside of the Dome again with Petal. At least then he felt free, until the torture and subsequent death.
“Fine, show me to my apartment,” Gerry said reluctantly.
Elaine smirked with triumph.
Chapter 3
Two weeks of pacing in the tight cell hadn’t done much for Petal’s physical fitness. Her muscles ached as she ran down the tunnel, all the time trying to stay balanced in the dark. The tunnel inclined with a low gradient, presumably all the way to the surface. A further few minutes into her journey and Petal breathed heavily, her lungs burned, no longer used to such exertion. Cramp gripped her calf muscles and her hamstrings felt like they would snap any minute, taut like stretched Nanothread.
Spending those weeks in the darkness of her imprisonment had given her eyes time to adjust to the gloom. Even down here in the dark tunnel, its only light coming from small, sporadic amber semi-spheres embedded into the low ceiling, she managed to make out a few details: footsteps, grooves on the surface of the walls, and various power lines, probably going to a reserve system. Nothing indicated how long she would be stuck underground. It could go on for miles for all she knew.
But despite that thought, and heeding Gabe’s urgency, she continued on, climbing the dark tunnel, hoping to finally be free. To find answers.
So many questions birthed in her mind, wailed like hungry babies needing nourishment in a famine of answers. She had the slate in one hand. The display told her it was past 0900, June 12. She wanted to stop and analyse the data, read about Criborg and the set of coordinates, but the need to escape the darkness pushed her onwards.
It took Petal another twenty minutes of climbing until she came to a vertical shaft with a metal ladder attached. Placing her slate and pistol in the folds of her prison suit she ascended the rungs. Up and up she climbed. Her legs like jelly, her arms numb and weak. She stopped a few times and waited for the pain to pass.
She reached the top of a ladder to find an electronic pad embedded on its surface. She reached up and touched the blank screen. A laser scanned her fingerprint. It beeped and the door slid away into the surrounding shaft. Good job, Gabe. He must have hacked the system to recognise her prints.
The streaming light of the morning sun shone down into her eyes, made her squint and hold her hand in front of her while her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. She clung to the ladder and bathed in the warmth for a few seconds while she breathed the fresh air into her sore lungs. The air was cool and moist, and despite the clear skies and bright sun, the cold temperature penetrated her flimsy clothes, making her shiver.
She had no idea how far away from Darkhan’s border she was. She looked behind her and saw the old, battered towers of the city centre, and between them a wide expanse of waste ground. A young girl, no older than nine or ten, dressed in filthy rags, propelled herself across the dusty ground with her hands. Her legs were withered thin, folded beneath her. She sat atop a makeshift wheeled board. The wheels clattered against the stones and fragments of Steelcrete.
The girl stopped a hundred or so metres away and turned to look at Petal.
Petal hauled herself out of the tunnel. Her heart pounded. Something about the way the girl looked at her like she was a criminal escaping from prison made Petal scramble to her feet and sprint away from the compound.
She didn’t stop to look back until she had travelled a couple of miles away from the city. Along her route nothing but waste ground and old empty trenches civilians had dug to protect themselves featured. It wasn’t uncommon to find an entire family of skeletons hugging each other in those trenches. Most were dug too shallow to stop the blast damage and subsequent radiation.
To the east she could make out the broken and dead city remnants of those places beyond the Sludge, the slow-moving river of mud and chemicals.
Between the Sludge and Darkhan, about a hundred metres away, stood a small, low building. At first she didn’t notice it. It was the building’s shadow that gave it away, despite its walls and roof camouflaged to look like one of the many rocky outcrops within the vast nothingness of this land.
Mustering up the energy she jogged closer.
It was a sturdy structure, twice her height, ten metres wide, and twenty metres long. A sand-camouflaged door stretched across half its width. She tried the handle but it didn’t budge. By the looks of the rails above and below she realised it was a sliding door, and yet it still wouldn’t move.
Coming from the centre of city, a dust devil plumed into the air. Within seconds she saw the small black mark on the horizon and knew it was a vehicle coming her way. It grew bigger every second, and she guessed she had less than a minute to find cover before getting caught.
Damn it. Her breakout must have been reported already. Despite herself she worried for Gabe. But no time to dwell. She yanked on the building’s handle which again got her nowhere. The control panel resided with a locked steel box next to the door. It featured a battered biometric panel. She tried her luck but it just buzzed back at her with the message: UNAUTHORISED ACCESS.
They’d likely know she attempted to get in now.
The low whine of an h-core-powered VTOL engine grew louder by the second. When she turned round, a hovering ATV approached from a few kilometres away. It reminded her of the old hovercrafts she once saw on a piece of old video footage from the twentieth century. These new versions were much more manoeuvrable owing to the more advanced VTOL engines, which were now ubiquitous on Jaguar-style helicopters, planes, and even the UAV drones that The Family used.
The driver wore the same kind of robes as those in the compound, along with goggles and a long-barrelled rifle attached to the front of the sleek pill-shaped vehicle. A monochrome camouflage paint job covered its exterior. Ideal for wintery conditions in Russia, she thought.
The red scarf around the driver’s face confirmed it: a Red Widow.
“Screw it!” Petal shot the lock with the pistol, exposing its innards. She realised without her implant she’d have no way of interfacing with it. So she shot it again until the entire control box hung from the door, exposing the mechanical part of the lock mechanism.
“Stop!” A voice boomed over a PA.
She had a few more seconds.
Petal turned to face the approaching ATV, held the pistol behind her back. She casually walked forward a few steps. She held her breath as the vehicle stopped and the Widow got out. The heavy-barrelled rifle remained attached to the ve
hicle’s hood, but the robed woman carried a similar looking shotgun to the one Gabe had wielded. Although a crude, short-range weapon, it had the mark of a western gun maker. The blued, carbon-graphene snub-nosed barrel and sturdy stock featured a hexagonal texture, making the gun incredibly light and rigid, transferring the power into the shells with incredible accuracy.
The Widow carried a large arcing blade on her back: a sickle like the one the guards back at the compound carried. Petal hoped the Widow hadn’t seen her pistol. She hoped it was small and quiet enough that the noise of the engine would have obscured the short blasts.
“Kneel to ground. Show me hands,” the Widow said. Her red scarf, covered in dust, came down to her chest and flapped in the wind along with her long, brown robes.
Petal knelt, dropped the pistol to rest on the back of her calves and brought her hands round to the front, palms up. If only I had access to my spikes, she thought.
The Widow approached, shotgun inches from Petal’s chest. She spoke aloud, but not to Petal.
“I’ve apprehended prisoner zero one, zero one, zero six. Kill or detain?” Her voice was thick with a strong, Russian accent, and her eyes were like the others: glassy, intense, fanatic. It was like she were controlled by someone, or something else. The Widow nodded to herself. Must have received an internal message. A smile like an open, rotten wound stretched across her face exposing black and yellow teeth.
She chambered a shell in the shotgun and placed her index finger on the trigger.
***
Petal blinked twice, and within that time, she’d wrenched the shotgun from the Widow by the barrel, swept her legs from beneath her, crashing her to the ground, and struck the butt against her skull. It cracked sickeningly against the bone, crushing and breaking it, killing the Widow instantly.
Code Breakers: Beta Page 3
