Mark R. Healy
Copyright © Mark R. Healy 2015
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Cover Art Copyright © Mark R. Healy 2015
Editing by Clio Editing Services
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The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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Author’s Note
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Also by Mark R. Healy
1
Knile had waited years for this moment, but now that it was finally here he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.
He heard her voice in his head again for the hundredth time today, an echo of the past. Saw her clear blue eyes and the way her eyelashes dipped as she offered him a smile, a smile that was meant just for him. Chestnut hair spilling across her shoulders, the cerulean blue fabric of her dress against pale skin.
He saw smoke and flame, saw those same eyes filled with sadness and dread. Saw her soft lips part as she tried to say one last word.
Knile gasped as if he’d been physically struck. He clamped a hand over his eyes as if that might stop the images from playing in his head, stop the sound of her voice in his mind.
He pushed those thoughts away as he crouched in the gloom. Evening had descended like a blanket across the city. From his place in the shadows he could see the denizens of the slums filter past, shuffling hurriedly from one place to the other like cockroaches searching for a place to hide, unaware of his proximity in the fading light. He was close enough to smell them, to touch them. Close enough to taste their fear.
Knile tugged his sleeve and tilted his wrist, watching as the dim light played off the cracked face of his wristwatch. The guy was late. He should have been here by now.
An explosion shook the still evening air, a distant boom that resonated out across the slums from at least two blocks away. In response, a pair of pigeons that had been roosting in the upper reaches of the tenements near Knile took flight amid a raucous flapping of wings, black against the deep blue sky above the rooftops.
The natives are getting restless.
Knile checked his watch again, needlessly, the hands remaining in the same position they had occupied a few seconds before. He felt those thoughts of her returning, clawing incessantly at the edge of his consciousness, and he knew that he was running out of ways to stave them off. He needed this to be over.
“Where are you, fat man?” he muttered to himself, tapping impatiently on his wrist.
You’ve been away for years, Knile, he thought. Maybe things have changed more than you know.
He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling the walls of the alley closing in around him. Out in the lowlands there were wide open spaces in which he could roam. He’d gotten used to that freedom in the years he’d been out there, and now confinement and claustrophobia were concepts with which he was largely unfamiliar. They were conditions that he’d managed to forget, concerns that applied to others but not to him.
Or so he’d thought. Now he wasn’t so sure. Although he’d only just returned, the concrete and brick buildings that thrust up around him were already beginning to feel like the bars of a prison cell. He needed to get out.
“Screw this.”
He got up to leave, but just then another figure appeared in the alley, lumbering toward him with a familiar gait. Details were difficult to make out in the low light, but Knile could hear the ragged breathing, the wheezing, the way the boots scraped and slid across the asphalt rather than lifting clear with each step. The rattle of keys on a belt. They were all pieces of a puzzle that, when put together, gave him a fingerprint of the man moving toward him.
It was him. The one he sought.
Knile leaned forward, allowing his weight to transfer to the balls of his feet. He placed one hand down onto the asphalt like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun, then paused as the man neared.
Now that he was closer, more details were becoming apparent. Knile noted a distended belly, dishevelled hair, sagging jowls that squeezed out past the respirator on his face – a face that contained an expression so disagreeable that it looked as though it had been moulded there and left to set like clay.
Definitely the guy.
There was another explosion, closer this time, and the newcomer flinched, grunting and lifting a hand protectively above his head. The ground vibrated and dust filtered down from the buildings above like misting rain. The man coughed under his respirator and waved a hand irritably in front of his face, cursing to himself.
He stopped at a door not far from Knile, rummaging through the keys at his belt. They jangled and sent little shimmering sounds chasing along the alleyway as the sound of the explosion subsided.
Knile got to his feet, quiet as a shadow.
“Fallon,” Knile said.
The fat man cried out and staggered backward, bumping noisily against a downpipe with the back of his head. Amid his contortions he managed to both dislodge his respirator and drop whatever it was he was carrying. It landed on the asphalt beside him with a wet thud. His eyes widened as he tried to locate the source of the voice, and from his jacket he produced a small pocketknife, which he held out in one trembling, meaty fist.
“Who is it? Who’s there?” he demanded feebly.
Knile stepped forward and allowed himself to be seen. He gave a little half smile and spread his hands as if to say here I am.
Fallon lowered the knife slightly and peered forward, shoving the respirator aside so that he could speak more freely.
“Knile?”
“The one and only.”
“For the love of…” Fallon tucked the pocketknife back in his jacket angrily, rubbing the back of his head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, man?”
“What do you mean? You’re the one who’s been asking around for me.”
“Yeah, so what?” Fallon said. “That doesn’t mean you have to creep around in the friggin’ shadows. You don’t have to stalk me. Haven’t you ever learned to use a door?”
Knile walked toward him. “Calm down.”
“Seriously. Do you know how to knock, like normal people?” Fallon said. He glanced down at his feet at the dropped package, then gestured helplessly at it. “And look at this. Do you know how far I had to walk to get this? That trip half killed me.”
“Let me guess? Half a block?”
Fallon scowled. “Screw you.” He scooped up the bundle and then lifted the keys to the door again. “Come in off the street, will you? It’s not safe o
ut here.”
They proceeded inside and Fallon closed the door behind them, flicking at four separate locking mechanisms and then sliding a metal bolt across the entrance for good measure.
“Neighbours are as friendly as ever, by the looks of it,” Knile remarked.
“Neighbours are hungry,” Fallon spat. “Neighbours are desperate. Hard times, man. Hard times.”
Fallon led Knile down the corridor, lighting a candle in a small room at the end and seating himself heavily at a worn wooden table. He dropped the bundle unceremoniously before him and began to unravel it.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Fallon said, glancing briefly at Knile before returning his attention to the bundle.
“Well, it was a close thing,” Knile said. “You know I’m not well liked around here.” The room hadn’t changed much in the years since he had last seen it. It was filthy and poorly maintained, with jars of bolts, rocks and other indeterminable materials lining the shelving along the wall. One of the jars had smashed on the floor and had been left where it lay, the many pieces of it glinting in the candlelight.
“Not well liked? Doubt it. That’s ancient history, buddy,” Fallon said with a toothy smile. “I’m sure it’s all been forgotten.”
“Yeah, right.”
Fallon finished unwrapping his prize, a glistening mound of greasy, pale meat, and he began to rip at it with his bare fingers, shredding it into smaller morsels that he could stuff inside his mouth. An unappealing scent assaulted Knile, something akin to offal that had been left out in the sun for too long, and he screwed up his nose.
“Where did you get the, uh… chicken?” Knile said.
Fallon paused to lick some grease off his fingers, casting an uncertain look in Knile’s direction.
“Uh, this isn’t chicken,” he said.
Knile waved dismissively. “Okay, forget I asked.” He moved forward and leaned on the table. “What do you want, Fallon? You’ve heard from Mianda, right?”
Fallon continued to stuff his face, squeezing words out the side of his mouth as he did so.
“I’ve got some good news for you, Knile. Great news. Someone out there is looking out for you.”
“Huh?” Knile said irritably. “You better start making sense. I came a long way for this.”
“That can’t have been much fun, trekking across this poisoned ball of dirt–”
Knile reached forward and grabbed Fallon’s shirt and wrenched him forward. Bits of meat splattered across the table as he choked in surprise.
“Quit it with the damn games, man,” Knile growled. “Tell me why I’m here.”
“Okay, buddy. Okay,” Fallon said, shrinking away from the other man’s wilting gaze. He eased Knile’s wrist away with slimy fingers. “Just trying to lighten the mood. No problem, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Get on with it.”
Fallon pointed a stubby finger at him. “They sent word to me a couple of days back. There’s a passkey waiting for you. Right now.”
Knile glared at him. “What?”
“There’s a passkey for you,” Fallon repeated. “It’s your lucky day. You’re getting a ticket out of here.”
Knile suppressed the urge to reach out and slap the other man’s face.
“I told you when I left,” he grated, “that the only reason for you to contact me was if you had information about Mianda. If you got word that she was alive. Didn’t I?”
Fallon blinked uneasily. “Yeah, but–”
“And now you’re telling me that there’s no news about her?”
“This is a passkey we’re talking about, buddy! A ticket out of this hellhole–”
Knile abruptly turned on his heel.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “I knew it was bad news when you saw me escaping the city a few years back. I should never have given you my contact details. Everyone else thinks I’m dead.”
“Hey, that hurts my feelings, man. You know I can keep a secret.”
Knile jabbed a finger at him. “If you ever call me again, I’ll personally come and kick the few remaining teeth out of your head–”
“No, I’m serious, man,” Fallon called after him. “Just listen, will you?”
Knile stopped and turned back to him. “A passkey,” he said doubtfully. “That’s what this is about?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“Yeah, and I need a hacked passkey like a hole in the head right now.”
“It’s not hacked,” Fallon said earnestly. “It’s got your name on it.”
Knile raised his eyebrows, unable to contain his surprise. He walked slowly back toward the table as Fallon nervously placed another wad of meat in his mouth.
“There’s a passkey with my name on it,” Knile repeated slowly.
“Yeah, buddy. That’s what I said. It’s legit. Someone up there wants you out of here. Someone likes you.”
Knile’s eyes narrowed. “That’s impossible.”
“Hey, this information came from Jon Hanker himself over an encrypted channel,” Fallon said, holding up a worn holophone that was attached to his belt. “It’s legit.”
Knile worked his jaw as he considered. He shook his head. “It’s bullshit. It’s a trap.”
“I’ll tell you what it is,” Fallon said. “It’s your only chance of ever getting out.” He lifted another handful of food, shaking his head disdainfully at it. “Look at what you did,” he said, hoisting it for Knile to see. “Fell in the dirt. Now it’s covered in shit.”
Knile recoiled from the foul-smelling meat and took a step back, turning away. Fallon took another wistful look at the handful, then shrugged and stuffed it in his mouth, making no attempt to clean it.
“I don’t want the passkey,” Knile said decisively. “You can tell Jon to do what he wants with it. Tell him to give it to some other sucker. Let them see if they can get off-world.”
“Makes no difference to me,” Fallon called as Knile walked away. “I get my commission whether you take the ticket or not.”
Knile reached the door and began to fumble at the locks, and in moments the larger man appeared behind him, wiping his fingers messily on his shirt.
“Here,” Fallon said. “Look out.” He flipped the array of locks adroitly and removed the bar, pulling the door open with a creak. “It’s a shame you’re walking away from this. It really is. Giving up a chance of a future.”
“Whatever.”
Fallon licked at his fingers. “Well. Nice seein’ you again.”
Knile stood in the threshold, looking out into the darkened street. A few doors down he could hear the sound of an infant wailing, and further the white noise of the inner city of Link – unseen people and machines going about their work beyond the reach of the slums. He hadn’t missed this place in all the time he’d been gone, but for some reason he now found it difficult to leave.
He thought of the last time he’d seen Mianda, surrounded by smoke and fire, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes through the haze. After he’d lost her up there, he’d wondered if there was a reason to keep going at all. She’d meant everything to him, more than all else in this world put together.
He’d waited years for her to send word, to give him a sign that she’d made it through.
Now after all this time he’d finally gotten the call from Fallon, returning at great risk from his exile to a place in which he wasn’t welcome. Throughout the long journey he’d thought of nothing but Mianda – what she might look like now, the subtle ways in which she might have changed, the sound of her voice. The things she would have to tell him.
But all of those thoughts had amounted to nothing.
Knile could only stand in the doorway, crestfallen.
We were meant to leave Earth together, Mianda. You and me.
So what was he to do now? Return to the lowlands to carry out a meagre existence moving from one place to the next? Scrounging for food and seeking employment from the few folk who still lived out there? He�
��d done it for years while he waited, but what was the point of going back without Mianda?
Maybe it wasn’t the brick and mortar of the city that he’d felt closing in around him, he thought, but the world itself, the very hands of this choked and suffocating earth that threatened to block his path at every turn. There was no escape from it here in the city, and there was no escape from it in the lowlands either.
To live on Earth was to endure a slow and excruciating death sentence. That fact was inescapable.
And Mianda wasn’t going to magically reappear. She was gone. He had to admit that to himself now.
We were meant to leave together. Now it seems the only option is for me to leave alone.
“Well, don’t stand there forever, buddy,” Fallon said behind him. “It’s not safe out there. Not in the slums. Not outside Link. You forgotten that?”
Knile half turned.
The time for waiting is over.
“Show me the encryption code,” Knile said decisively.
Fallon stared at him blankly for a moment, then dug the holophone out of his pocket.
“Okay, sure.”
Knile snatched it from him and examined the transmission from Hanker, copying the accompanying code and running it against a verification algorithm. It checked out.
He handed the holophone back to Fallon. “All right,” he said. “Tell Hanker I’m coming.”
“Oh. Changed your mind, huh?” Fallon said, delighted. “Thought you would. Good choice.” He bobbed his large head approvingly. “You, uh, gonna need help getting there?”
Knile began to walk out into the street. “No. I’ll manage.”
“You sure? Things have changed around here. I can arrange something for a small fee–”
“I said no.”
“Sure, sure,” Fallon said. “Whatever you like. But there’s one other thing.”
Knile stopped and turned again, boots scuffing quietly on the road. “What now?”
“Well, there’s a short fuse on this thing,” Fallon said, almost embarrassed. “Took a while for them to get word to me, then a while for me to get word to you…”
“Spit it out.”
“You’ve gotta be at the Stormgates in forty-eight hours.” He reached down and checked the holophone again. “Uh, make that forty-six hours, twenty minutes. If you’re not, your ride’s gone. Those passkeys are non-refundable and you won’t get another chance–”
Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1) Page 1
