Earthbound (The Reach, Book 1)

by Mark R. Healy

  This was not how he wanted to operate. He needed to be one hundred percent clear, one hundred percent sharp, all the way to the top of the Reach. Any less and he wouldn’t make it.

  But right now, it was simply a luxury he didn’t have. In a few hours he could rest. Until then he would have to find a way to cope.

  “You can sleep on your own time,” Ursie said as they left the store. “Right now I’m paying you to–”

  Knile whirled and grabbed her by the upper arm, startling the girl with the suddenness of his movement.

  “Wait right there. Let’s get one thing straight, okay? This is my gig, and there’s only one person who makes decisions on how it runs – me. If I say we sleep, we sleep. If I say we walk, or run, or hide, then we do that. Because if we don’t, we’ll most likely end up dead or rotting in the Cellar, and that means neither of us gets what we want. Do you understand that?”

  Ursie glared up at him, sullen. “Yeah.”

  “If you don’t like any of those terms, you can walk right now. You’re a passenger on this ride, not the one behind the controls.”

  “Okay, man. I’ve got it. Let me go.”

  Knile released her and continued on his way, threading his way through the crowds while Ursie tagged along behind.

  “We need some supplies,” Knile said. “I don’t have many creds to my name these days, but enough to buy some food and some other essentials we’ll need for the trip.”

  “Yeah, all right.”

  “Just keep up and watch out for Enforcers, okay? That’s all you have to do for now.”

  Knile led her through a series of stores, picking up a backpack at his first stop, then a small amount of food to place inside it. At a hardware outlet he bought rope and some tools, including needle-nose pliers and a screwdriver, taking particular time and care to inspect the implements as he gauged their quality. He also picked up several tech parts, including a length of grey cable and a couple of circuit boards.

  They were on their way to the next store, crossing through a throng of people when Knile felt someone grip his sleeve and jerk it sharply. He whirled, fearing he was being robbed, but by the time he had reacted, the perpetrator had already drawn back several steps and stood watching him.

  She was a young girl, younger even than Ursie, with chocolatey-coloured skin and a thick bunch of golden-brown curls sprouting from her head like coils of thick wire. She regarded Knile calmly with eyes that were so dark they were almost black.

  “It’s the only way out,” she said enigmatically. She held something in her right hand that Knile couldn’t quite make out.

  “What?” Knile said, irritated at the intrusion. “What’re you–”

  He glanced down at his wrist, and just above his watch was imprinted a single word in bold black ink: ‘Skybreach’.

  “You little turd!” Knile growled, but when he looked up, the girl was already receding into the crowd.

  “What happened?” Ursie said, poking her head around to see what Knile was looking at.

  “I got tagged,” he said. “Little shit caught me off guard.”

  With paper becoming scarcer, tagging had become prevalent in recent years, a technique used by various causes and activist groups to spread awareness of their existence in lieu of flyers. The intended recipient was stamped with a temporary tattoo, usually without their permission, to serve as a reminder.

  Knile rubbed his thumb across the tag, but it had already dried.

  “What does it mean?” Ursie said.

  “Who cares?” Knile yanked his sleeve back in place, covering the tattoo. “It’s just someone trying to bilk me out of my creds. No, thanks.”

  “It’ll wear off in a couple of days,” Ursie said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Brushing the incident aside, Knile led Ursie to another clothing store and approached the young woman behind the counter.

  “Good day,” the clerk said.

  “Hi,” Knile said in return. “I was here a while back and really liked the look of some of your finer garments. I wonder if you still have any of those?”

  The woman looked at the two of them doubtfully, dressed as they were in their grubby, worn attire, and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

  “Sir, we have many items that would be far better suited–”

  “I can pay,” Knile assured her. He flashed his credchip briefly. “Birthday present for my special little girl here.”

  The woman glanced at Ursie, who offered a weak smile in return. She seemed to think about it for a few moments, then inclined her head politely.

  “Of course. Wait here a moment, please.”

  The woman disappeared into a storeroom behind the counter and Ursie edged forward to gain Knile’s attention.

  “Seriously?” she said. “Do you really have the time and the creds to waste on this fancy shit?”

  “Just picking up the essentials.”

  The girl placed her palm on her forehead in exasperation.

  “What have you gotten yourself into, Ursie?”

  The clerk returned with a pale blue dress, a simple yet elegant number that Knile took gently in his hands with a little nod of gratitude. He held it up against Ursie to gauge the fit.

  “What do you think?” he said.

  Ursie seemed nonplussed. “Uh–”

  “I love it too,” he said enthusiastically, laying it on the counter. “And I think I’ll take something for myself while I’m here.” He spread his hands in mock helplessness. “I’m out of control!”

  The clerk smiled and bobbed her head and then moved away again. “Very well, sir.”

  “What are you doing?” Ursie hissed.

  “Just play your part and act natural, kid,” Knile said, the fake smile he had presented to the clerk fading away.

  “That’s not easy when you’re being weird.” Ursie glanced outside the shop nervously, linking an arm around the satchel and gripping it tightly to her body.

  “And stop strangling that satchel,” he cautioned. “If people see you holding it like there’s gold dust in there, they’re probably going to get the wrong idea.”

  “I’m not a complete idiot, man. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Really?” Knile said, turning to face her. “Like placing your trust in a man you just met, a man you know has a criminal past? A man who is far stronger than you and could pry that thing” – his eyes flicked to the satchel – “out of your hands as easy as falling off a chair? A man who could torture you until you gave up the access code, then steal your prize and leave you for dead?” Knile shook his head. “Don’t be so sure about how clever you are. To me, you’re just a naive kid who tripped over a winning lottery ticket and now has no idea how to cash it in.”

  Ursie shifted uneasily. “Hanker vouched for you. That counts for something.”

  “Not much.”

  “And I read people pretty well.”

  Knile guffawed. “You read people pretty well? You’re staking your life and the fortune of the century on your ability to read me? After you’ve known me for all of ten seconds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I hope that kind of ability gets you far, kid.” She made no response, just stared at him with big watery eyes, and his expression softened. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you and leave you in a ditch.”

  Ursie seemed to exhale subtly with relief. “I’m counting on it.”

  The clerk came back with clothes for Knile, a surprisingly smart dinner suit, and after a quick appraisal Knile decided to take it.

  “Anything else?” the clerk said, more pleasant and accommodating with the scent of a big sale in her nostrils.

  “That will be all,” Knile said, swiping his credchip to complete the transaction. There was a brief pause and then the sale went through. The clerk folded the garments neatly and offered them to Knile, who placed them inside his now bulging backpack.

  “Thank you.” The clerk beamed. “Have a nice day.”

  “A
nd you.”

  They left the store and Ursie jogged to keep up with Knile’s brisk pace.

  “Where to now?” she said.

  Knile scowled. “Are you going to keep asking that question?”

  “Probably.”

  “Shit. I should have picked up a gag somewhere.” He jabbed his finger toward the ceiling. “Up. We’re going up.”

  18

  The woman behind the desk fumbled her cup of tea and almost dropped it, such was her surprise at the sudden arrival of the man before her. The saucer clattered on the pristine marble reception desk and she uttered a little cry of dismay.

  “My goodness, Inspector Duran!” she exclaimed, startled and a little angry. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

  Duran swept up to the desk and thrust his hands upon it, his fingers making little steeples as he leaned forward urgently.

  “My apologies, Mrs. Appleby,” he said, breathless. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to the executive office, which was closed. “I need to see Commissioner Prazor immediately. This is a matter of the utmost importance.”

  Mrs. Appleby glared at him haughtily over her half spectacles.

  “Out of the question. The commissioner is in a very high-level meeting–”

  “That doesn’t matter!” Duran shouted. “Tell him I need to see him!”

  “Excuse me, Inspector,” the old woman said, outraged. “You will show some respect when you address me, or you can–”

  Duran grunted in disgust and pushed away from the desk, stalking over toward the door purposefully. He’d only taken a few strides when an armed Enforcer appeared from an alcove to intercept him.

  “Stop him!” Mrs. Appleby screamed shrilly. She placed a hand melodramatically on her bosom as if she were about to faint.

  The Enforcer moved calmly between Duran and the door, his rifle pointed at his feet.

  “Get out the way, Sergeant,” Duran said.

  The sergeant gave an arrogant little half grin and shook his head, looking Duran up and down contemptuously.

  “You think you can boss me around because you’re wearing that suit?”

  “No, not because of that. Because I’ll sit you on your ass if you don’t do what I say.”

  The sergeant’s smile grew bigger. “Oh, good. I don’t get to see much action up here, most of the time. Let’s see what the little tough guy can do.”

  The door behind the sergeant opened, and an old, grey-haired man wearing a black suit poked his head out, a holophone clutched in one hand.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded.

  “Commissioner Prazor,” Duran blurted before the others could get a word in, “I apologise for the interruption, but I need to see you immediately.”

  Prazor’s gaunt face turned toward Duran and he scowled, his piercing eyes the colour of cobalt.

  “Alec? What on god’s green earth is this about?”

  “There’s an emergency,” Duran said. “I need to talk to you right away.”

  Prazor seemed to sigh inwardly, glancing down at the holophone in his hand and then back up at Duran.

  “Give me thirty seconds.” He began to close the door but stopped. “Mrs. Appleby, calm down and drink your tea,” he added. His eyes locked onto Duran. “And you get a hold of yourself,” he said, then disappeared back inside his office.

  Duran looked down at his jacket and pants, only now aware of his dishevelled appearance. He straightened the lapels on his suit, tucked the collar of his shirt back in place and smoothed back his hair. Prazor had always been one for keeping up appearances and he expected no less of those below him.

  The sergeant slunk back into his alcove, watching Duran all the while with a faint little smile on his face, and Mrs. Appleby lowered herself back into her chair, keeping a wary eye on the inspector. Duran noticed her surreptitiously adding a small dose of white powder to the tea, a sedative of some kind, Duran decided, and her features visibly relaxed after she had taken a couple of sips.

  Duran stood waiting for the thirty seconds to elapse, not sure if Mrs. Appleby would give him a sign that he was good to go, or whether he was expected to count the time off himself. Seeing the old woman slump serenely in her chair with a vacant expression on her face, he decided to choose the latter, striding forward and opening the door before anyone could stop him.

  He eased the door shut again and looked about the commissioner’s office. It was spacious and generously furnished with some of the finest fittings money could buy. White leather chairs were arranged around an ornate rosewood coffee table. A bar in the corner was stocked with liquor of many shapes, sizes and colours, most of which were no longer produced here on Earth. Under his feet Duran could feel the softness of the immaculate cut pile carpet, which ran all the way out to the curved edge of the room, where massive bay windows looked out across the landscape, extending almost five metres to the ceiling.

  Prazor himself sat behind a solid oak desk in a high-backed executive chair, still in conversation with someone on the holophone. He indicated for Duran to sit with a curt motion.

  “…and that’s as far as my projection goes. I’m sorry,” came a voice from the phone’s speaker.

  Prazor stared at the image of the woman on his phone and shook his head.

  “That’s not good enough, Veronica,” he said, and Duran picked up a note of pleading in his voice. “Not by half.”

  “I understand your predicament, Commissioner, but there’s really nothing I can do.”

  “This is a two-way agreement. You know that. If you want to keep things open from this side, you have to give me some blasted help!”

  There was a pause.

  “Have your administrators raise taxes again.”

  Prazor threw back his head, exasperated. “They can’t keep doing that and you know it.”

  “Why not?”

  Prazor gave Duran a sidelong glance and then grimaced.

  “Veronica, something’s come up. I’ll need to call you back.”

  The woman carried on as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “You need to make this work, Commissioner. For your own sake.”

  Prazor swiped his finger across the holophone and tossed it on the desk, where it skidded and spun across the glossy oak so far that it almost fell from the other edge. As he pushed out of his chair and walked over to the window, Prazor thrust his hands into his pockets and wiggled them around as if searching for answers amongst the lint.

  Duran was acutely aware of his poor timing, but also knew that it couldn’t be helped.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Commissioner–”

  “What is it, Alec? What’s got you in such a tizz?”

  Duran got up and joined the old man over at the window, where tainted yellow sunlight streamed in around them, painting the cream carpet a deep shade of orange.

  “I need men. We need to start a sweep of the Reach immediately.”

  “What? Again? Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

  “That was for Deimona–”

  “Who’s been neutralised, from what I hear.”

  “He was, yes, but there’s a more important target who just showed up on our radar.”

  Prazor arched a bushy eyebrow. “Who now?”

  “Knile Oberend.”

  Prazor looked puzzled. “Oberend?” He seemed to search Duran’s face as if evaluating his words, then looked out the window again, shaking his head. “I should have known this would happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, Alec, I know you have history with Oberend. I know you must have spent the last three years cursing his name, but you have to let it go.”

  “Commissioner, I just saw a video feed–”

  “Oberend is dead,” Prazor said sharply. “You need to let it go, Alec.”

  “I saw him–”

  “It doesn’t matter what you saw. I can’t give you the men in any case.” H
e rounded on the younger man. “Do you know how many resources I had to shift just to satisfy your requirements for the Deimona takedown? Do you know how much effort that took?”

  “I appreciate that, but–”

  “And did you also know that I’ve had to lay off almost fifty men in the last six months?” His eyes bored into Duran. “Fifty blasted Enforcers who aren’t out there in the streets anymore. Fifty men I had to take off the gates and patrols and checkpoints that we have to protect.” He stared down at the city of Link baking in the afternoon sun almost two kilometres below. “It can’t be done.”

  “What’s going on?” Duran said uneasily. “I just came from surveillance and they told me that most of the gear is being shut down. What’s happening to us, Commissioner? It wasn’t like this a few years ago when I was sent away.”

  Prazor gripped Duran’s shoulder affectionately, his anger dissipating.

  “Do you know why the space elevator that sits on top of the Reach has been running all of these years? It’s because the Consortium keep it open. This is a business for them. They extract the only things of worth left on this planet and lift them up into space on behalf of off-world buyers. Sometimes, that’s people – relatives or loved ones who were left behind. Other times it’s artefacts or old pieces of hardware that, for whatever reason, have some value to someone out there in the habitats.

  “Over the past couple of years it has become increasingly obvious that this business model of theirs is beginning to fall apart. The margins are getting smaller. There’s almost nothing down here left to take. And so, the creds aren’t flowing downward much anymore. The economy here is starting to fall apart.”

  He looked at Duran with watery eyes. “They’re going to pull out of here soon, Alec. I know it. They’ll shut the Wire down. When that happens, the Enforcers will become obsolete. Everything will fall to pieces, descend into chaos, and what’s left of this planet of ours will collapse into anarchy.”

  Duran felt numb. “There has to be something we can do.”

  “There is,” Prazor said. “We keep things ticking along, stretch things out as far as we can. Make everyone think that we still have control, even if that’s not quite the reality.”