Hank eyed him good-naturedly. “Okay, I’ll humour you. We don’t really care to become involved in the affairs of the Enforcers. Herding the huddled masses around Link and the slums, or even through the Reach, is not the best use of our resources. Our Crimson Shield are elite soldiers, not pig farmers. In contrast, the Enforcers are unskilled oafs. They’re dullards, thugs in uniforms with barely a brain cell between them. They’re well suited to what they do.” He shrugged. “The Consortium leaves the herding of the pigs to the pig farmers. There are no exceptions to this policy, no matter how nicely you squeal. Does that make it clear?”
“So I take it that you’re not going to give me a personal escort up through the Atrium, then?”
Hank laughed. “Nice try, old buddy. The Consortium just runs a space elevator. That’s it. We’re a service for Sponsors to move people and items up the Wire. We’re not anyone’s private minders. Heck, we get clients from within Link, the slums…” He gestured at Knile. “From the lowlands, even. Do you think we’re going to send Redmen traipsing out all over the planet to haul passengers back here?” He shook his head. “Sorry. We don’t have the men for that. If you have an issue with the Enforcers, that’s something you have to sort out yourself. The only dialogue we have with them is when they trespass in one of our consulates or try to go higher than the Atrium. But they know not to do that.”
Knile raised his eyebrows. “It’s not much of a service if your passenger can’t make it to the elevator because he’s been captured by Enforcers. Do you give the Sponsor a refund if I don’t make it in time?”
“Your Sponsor signed a waiver when they paid us. They all do. The Consortium offers no guarantees of safety. We just reserve a seat on the elevator. It’s up to the passengers to do the rest. If the Sponsor has doubts about the passenger’s ability to make it there in one piece, they shouldn’t be ponying up the creds in the first place.” He tapped his fingers together. “Why don’t you go see the people up in Administration, a few levels up? They’re the ones who collect the taxes and run the Reach. Maybe they can help you.” Hank’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
Knile laughed to himself, giving up the game. “They’d more likely put me in cuffs.”
“Why the concern, Knile? If I remember right, you move around in this place like a ghost half the time anyway. Why would you need an escort?”
“Maybe I’m just getting old.”
“I doubt that.”
Knile finished at the water cooler and returned to his chair.
“So who is it?” he said tensely. “My Sponsor?”
Hank pursed his lips. “Well, I can’t tell you that, Knile. Heck, I don’t even know myself. The Sponsor chose not to disclose that information, as a matter of discretion. It’s not unheard of. Quite common, in fact.”
“You can’t even give me a hint?”
“If I was a betting man, I’d say it’s someone who has a chequered past, much like yourself, who doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to.”
“Makes sense, but doesn’t get me any closer to their identity.”
“I’m sure you can figure it out, Knile,” Hank said, linking his fingers in front of him. “How long can the list be?”
“What do you mean?”
“How many people do you know off-world? Someone who would be willing to rescue Knile Oberend from this toxic prison? Friends? Relatives?”
“I can’t think of anyone,” Knile admitted.
“Well, there’s someone.” Hank punched a code on a safe next to his desk, then reached in and plucked something out. He held it up for Knile to see. “Here’s the proof.”
Hank held in his hand an object with which Knile was only too familiar. It was a dull golden colour, shaped in a rounded rectangle about the size of his index finger. Hank swept his finger across a shallow indentation on one end of it, and a series of letters began to glow on its face.
It read: Knile Oberend.
“A legit passkey with your name on it,” Hank said, holding it steady. “Did you ever think you’d see the day?”
“Not really,” Knile said. It was the truth. In fact, it felt curiously odd just to look at the passkey. He was certain that any second he would blink and those letters would disappear, replaced by the letters that made up the name of the real owner of the key. But that did not happen.
Hank lowered the passkey and inserted it into a device on the desk, a sleek silver mechanism with an aperture perfectly suited to admit the golden key. The device came to life and began to flicker with red LEDs.
“Encode, please,” Hank said.
Knile knew enough about the passkeys to understand what he had to do. Extending his hand, he placed his thumb on the indentation on the passkey and waited as the procedure was carried out. The device vibrated slightly and then ejected itself into the palm of his hand.
“Encoding complete,” Hank said, making a note of it on the terminal on his desk. “Congratulations, Knile. The passkey is now encoded to your DNA. It’s yours to take.”
Knile drew the passkey back slowly, full of reverence, and stared down at it – his ticket out of this world. He swiped his thumb across the indentation as Hank had done before him.
Knile Oberend.
He checked his watch. Twenty-eight hours left before his ride began its ascent.
“Plenty of time if you’re taking the main elevators,” Hank said, noticing the gesture. “Not much time if you’re not.”
“If you loan me those two Redmen at the door, I promise I’ll have them back in an hour,” Knile joked.
“Then who’s going to protect me from all those scumbags outside who want to get in here and steal my passkeys?”
“Shit, Hank, I don’t know. Learn karate or something. Do I have to think of everything?”
Hank laughed again and reached across to shake Knile’s hand. He gave it a firm pump, then seemed to think of something.
“Oh, wait! I’ve got a job you might be interested in, Knile.”
Knile stared at him, nonplussed. “A job? Right now?”
Hank held up an index finger. “One second.” He pressed a button on the intercom. “Can you find the girl and send her in please?”
The girl? Knile thought, alarmed. What’s going on? And then, unbidden, he saw the face of Mianda in his mind. No, don’t even think about that.
“You okay, buddy?” Hank said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Who’s the girl, Hank?” Knile’s hands had become claws, digging into the armrests of his chair hard enough to crease the fabric.
“Uh, it’s easier for me to show you,” Hank said. “She’ll be here in a moment.”
The Consortium was a powerful corporation. They’d known about Knile surviving the incident up in the Atrium years before. Did they also have information about Mianda? Had she survived, and was she now mixed up in this somewhere?
A door opened from deeper in the complex, and Knile turned toward it with something akin to terror as his mind raced with the implications of that simple label – the girl. Although he’d been telling everyone that Mianda was dead, even telling himself that, he now knew that, deep inside him, he desperately hoped that was not the case.
When the girl did finally appear, however, he felt utterly foolish about his reaction.
She was young, maybe thirteen years old, and she looked as though she’d been on the streets for most of that time. A real street urchin. She was dressed in a drab grey blouse and dark jeans, and her blond hair was knotted and filthy. Her face was crusted with dirt, within which resided the only unblemished feature she possessed – a pair of startlingly clear blue eyes.
She carried what looked like a small, shiny metal briefcase, a possession that was at odds with her beggarly appearance. She watched Knile warily as she clutched the briefcase protectively to her chest.
For his part, Knile sat there, perplexed at this new development.
“What’s going on?” Knile said, glancing between the child an
d Hank.
“This here is Ursie,” Hank said. “She came to my attention a couple of days ago.” He pointed to the sofa. “Take a seat, Ursie.”
The girl turned and sat on the sofa without a word, glancing between the two men with those big, round eyes.
“Ursie has with her something that’s very valuable,” Hank went on. “There’s a buyer off-world who’s willing to pay a mountain of creds for this particular item. Not just willing. They’re desperate for it. They’re hitching a ride down the Wire, and they’ll be waiting right about the time you’re ready to board.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So there’s a problem. Ursie here is wanted by the Enforcers. She’s somewhat of a kindred spirit of yours. She can’t just take a ride up the elevators and deliver it herself.”
“What’s she wanted for?”
Hank glanced at the girl. “She likes to take things that don’t belong to her. Once again, much like yourself.”
Knile raised his eyebrow. “So let’s cut to the chase. You want me to take the briefcase and deliver it to the buyer, right?”
Hank sighed. “Not exactly. The merch is inside the briefcase.”
“And?”
“And the briefcase lock has over eight-thousand-bit encryption keeping the contents secure. Only Ursie knows the code.”
“Right. So Ursie opens the case and gives me the contents–”
“No,” Hank said. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
Ursie suddenly opened her mouth. “Because I don’t want some lowlife stealing my shit,” she said. Knile turned his head to look at her, and she returned his gaze with a degree of hostility, showing no sign of being intimidated.
“Lowlife? You should look in a mirror some time, kid,” Knile shot back. “Assuming you can see through the dirt.”
“I didn’t mean you specifically,” she said. Her voice was deeper than Knile had expected, and he wondered if she was older than she looked. “I meant anyone who tries to steal what’s mine.”
“Okay, quick one-oh-one on commerce, kid,” Knile said. “First rule is, if you want to actually sell something, you have to pass it on to the buyer at some point.”
“I know that,” she said, glowering at Knile over the briefcase.
“I mean, that is your aim here, right? You want to make some creds out of this thing.”
“Knile,” Hank interjected, “she wants to be there when the deal is made. The buyer is going to make the purchase in person, but he’s not coming further south than the roof. Doesn’t want to risk entering the Reach.”
Knile scratched his head. “Okay, so if Ursie gives me the merch right now and I take it with me, then I can do the deal and transfer her share of the creds to her chip–”
“I’m not doing that,” Ursie said hotly. “I don’t trust you. For all I know you could make the deal and take all the creds yourself. I’d never see a cent of it.”
Knile shrugged. “Screw it, then.” He turned back to Hank. “Sorry, man. I don’t need this hassle.”
Hank swivelled his display so that Knile could see, pointing to a number at the bottom.
“This is the offer,” Hank said.
Knile peered at the screen, not quite believing what he was seeing.
“Is that for real?”
“Apparently so,” Hank said.
Knile rested his head on his hand and whistled appreciatively. “That’s a lot of zeroes.”
“Uh-huh.”
Knile considered for a moment, then swivelled back toward Ursie.
“What the hell is in the case? And how did you come by it?” Knile said.
“I’m a good thief.”
“Aren’t you worried that someone could just come and hack the case open with a crowbar? Your fancy encryption won’t do you any good then.”
“It’s a boom box,” Hank said. “If the case is tampered with or opened forcibly, the contents are destroyed instantly by chemicals in the lining.”
Knile grimaced. “Clever. And where did you get that?” he said to the girl.
Ursie gave him a sardonic smile. “I’m a good thief,” she said again.
Knile snorted and shook his head. “Hank, I’ll pass on this one.”
Hank nodded. “It’s your decision. I just hope you’re thinking about your future.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hank reached out and pulled the display back toward him, hiding it from Knile’s view.
“What happens when you get to the top of the Wire? When you’re free of Earth and safely in Habitat One, ready to launch out into the solar system?”
“I guess that depends on my Sponsor.”
“A person you admitted you know nothing about.”
Knile frowned. “What are you getting at, Hank?”
“What happens if you get up there and something unexpected occurs? What happens if your Sponsor isn’t the benefactor you were hoping for, but instead someone with an ulterior motive? What happens if you find yourself all alone?”
Knile considered that. “I’ll figure something out.”
“You can figure all you want, but without the creds you’re not going anywhere. They don’t tolerate vagrants at Habitat One.” Hank leaned forward intently. “What happens if they send you back down the Wire?”
“That doesn’t happen.”
“I have records that say it does.” Hank leaned back again. “I’m not trying to scare you, Knile. I’m just telling you that you need to be prepared for every eventuality. If you have enough creds, you control your own destiny.” He looked back at the display. “With this much cash you could choose any place to live that you want.”
“Yeah, but… hauling the kid all the way up the Reach? I’m no babysitter, Hank.”
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” Ursie said vehemently. “I can look after myself just fine. What I’m looking for is a business partner.”
“Oh, really?” Knile said.
“Yeah. Fifty-fifty split. You get me to the Atrium, we make the deal and split the creds, and then you go on your joyride.”
“And what if you slow me down up there?” Knile said. “I move fast.”
“If you decide you need to cut and run, fine,” Ursie said. “I’ll find my own way home. But you don’t get a single cred unless you get me through the Atrium. Any less than that and you get nothing.”
Hank spread his hands. “Sounds like a deal you can’t lose, Knile.”
Knile tapped his lip, glaring at Ursie and then at Hank. He didn’t like it. He was at his best when he operated alone, and especially with this timeframe causing such a squeeze…
Still, Hank had a point. This was a good insurance policy. Those creds would give him the ability to call his own shots once he got off-world. It would provide the perfect springboard for his new life, regardless of the intentions of this mysterious Sponsor.
Knile looked back at Ursie. “You slow me down and I’ll ditch you. That’s a promise.”
Ursie nodded, and for the first time her air of belligerence dissipated and she relaxed the stiffness of her arms around the case.
“Fine.”
“Then it’s settled,” Hank said, getting up. “You’re in good hands, kid. Knile is the best in the business.”
Ursie slipped her legs forward and placed her feet on the floor. She got to her feet.
“He better be.”
17
They were led by one of the Crimson Shield down another corridor, a secret passage of sorts that allowed visitors of the consulate to leave unnoticed and which in turn protected their anonymity. Ursie stowed the briefcase in a shabby satchel that was slung over her shoulder, then came to a halt behind Knile while they waited for the Redman to check that the path was clear. The Redman entered a code on the door and stepped out.
“Good idea, putting the case away,” Knile said to her. “That thing practically screams ‘rob me’ to anyone looking for a score.”
; “Glad you approve,” Ursie said sarcastically. “It’s great to be learning so much from you already.”
Knile looked at her disdainfully. “Hey, don’t forget who’s doing who a favour here.”
The Redman reappeared and beckoned for them to follow him. They came out into the rear of a store that was different from the one Knile had entered, this one stocking clothes and a few household goods. The exit from the consulate was well disguised in one corner, masked by a stack of shelves that contained folded garments and piles of linen.
Knile glanced about the store to see if anyone had noticed them, but it seemed they had arrived unobserved.
“Thanks,” he said to their escort, but when he turned he found that the man had already stepped back into the passageway. The Redman closed the door without another word, leaving the two of them alone.
“Friendly bunch,” Ursie said, hitching up the satchel on her shoulder.
“Yeah.”
Knile surreptitiously ran his finger down the inside of his pocket to a secret compartment where he’d stowed the passkey. He could feel the smooth edges of it, the coolness of the metal through the thin fabric. He’d weighed up a few options for hiding the precious gadget, including in his shoe and tucking it under his belt, but this was the most secure place he could think to put it for now.
“So where are we going?” Ursie said.
Knile began to move through the store, stepping around a woman who was inspecting a pair of fawn-coloured slacks. She seemed ensconced in her shopping and paid the two newcomers no mind.
“Time to go shopping,” Knile replied.
“Huh? What do you need?”
“What do I need?” Knile said. “About fifteen hours sleep.”
The remark was meant to be flippant, an attempt at dry humour, but as soon as the words left his mouth he realised that he was tired. Dead tired. He hadn’t slept in the last forty-eight hours, and now he was beginning to feel it. Adrenaline had pushed him along up until now, keeping his faculties buoyant through the slums, Link, and the lower levels of the Reach, but now even that was waning. Fatigue was upon him in a rush, a punishing weight on his shoulders that would soon make his limbs weary and his thoughts sluggish.
Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1) Page 14
