Tess swayed with nausea. She stared at Blackwood’s twitching body, barely able to believe what she’d done.
Cillian reached out to steady her, but she backed away like a frightened animal.
“Run!” she screamed.
“No!”
“I can’t help you any more!”
“Then let me help you!”
“Get out of the City!” Tess swung around so that the gun was pointing at Cillian’s head. “Before I kill you as well.”
Her voice was cold and hard, and Cillian knew she would do it, but still he didn’t run. “I won’t leave you.”
Tess squeezed the trigger—
But her finger never completed its move.
With impossible speed Cillian’s hand lashed out and knocked the gun aside.
Tess felt her knees buckle, but Cillian caught her.
A howl burst from her lungs. “Leave me!”
“No.”
“I don’t deserve to live.”
“He didn’t deserve to live.” Cillian looked at Blackwood’s bloodied corpse. “He didn’t.”
“I followed him,” Tess whispered in shame.
“Not in the end.” Cillian lifted her up and slammed her against one of the power cells, trying to shock her to her senses. “Now you need to focus!”
58
“How do we get out of this?” Cillian demanded.
Tess just stared at Blackwood’s body splayed on the metal walkway, limbs twisted, blood oozing from his head.
“What was your plan?” Cillian shook her. “How were you going to get away?”
Before she could stop herself, Tess vomited.
“It’s OK.” He put his arm around her, holding her until she stopped retching. “You can do this. But you have to focus.”
She nodded.
Training.
This is what she’d been trained for, to deal with chaos and havoc.
She pushed Cillian aside and stood on her own two feet, breathing deeply, getting her balance again.
Training.
Turn off emotions and focus on the cold, hard facts. The victim had changed, but the plan could still hold.
“Dissociate from the body,” she said, forcing herself back on track.
Cillian looked at her blankly. “Meaning?”
“Meaning we were never here.” She held up the Luger and clicked Erase Personal Profile on the grip’s menu, then watched the LEDs blink as the gun started to reformat.
“You’re leaving it here?” He still wasn’t convinced she was thinking straight.
“Just shut up and do as I say.” Tess handed him a small canister. “Spray this on everything we’ve touched. Especially on the puke.”
“What is it?”
“DNA compound. Turns biological traces into a meaningless soup. It’ll confuse forensics.”
Hurriedly Cillian retraced their steps, spraying everything they’d touched.
“Keep some for the gun,” Tess called out.
He ran back. The Luger had finished reformatting and Tess dropped it onto the metal treads. Cillian discharged the spray over it until there was nothing left. “Enough?”
“It’ll have to be.” Tess slid the Luger into a pool of Blackwood’s blood, swirled it around with her toe, then kicked it off the gantry so that it clattered onto the concrete floor below. “When the police find it, they’ll just think it was lost in the struggle.”
Cillian didn’t know if she was being smart or stupid; he was way out of his depth. “What next?”
“Get out.”
“Same way we came?”
Tess shook her head. “Too much CCTV.”
“Shit. CCTV…” Cillian looked up and saw cameras dotted across the power chamber ceiling. “They’ve seen everything.”
“We disabled these, parachuted a software bug into the system.”
“How do you know it worked?”
“Because if it hadn’t, we’d be under arrest by now.” She grabbed Cillian and started running to the far side of the power chamber, where the gantry fed into a loading bay with winches and pulleys clustered around a series of steeply sloping chutes.
“It’s how they replace dead power cells,” Tess said, climbing into the bottom of Chute 3. “But they hardly ever get used.”
They crawled up the metal shaft and came to a security grille at the top. The lock had already been cut, and it slid back easily … to reveal a blinding snowstorm outside.
They were momentarily lost. Roads, lawns, paths were all vanishing under muffling snow. Stumbling over disappearing graves, they made it to some iron railings, hauled themselves over, and were finally absorbed by the crowds slipping across Cathedral Plaza.
Cillian glanced around, searching for any sign of flashing lights or alarms. “Where’s the safest place?”
Suddenly the enormity of what lay ahead crashed in on Tess. “Nowhere’s safe,” she whispered.
“There must be somewhere—”
“We have to vanish. Disappear completely.”
“But we’ve covered our tracks—”
“Cillian! We’re not just running from the police. We’re running from Revelation! They know what I look like, how I operate, who my friends are. They know everything about me. When I killed Blackwood, I signed my own death warrant. Neither of us is safe any more.”
59
Urgently glancing over their shoulders to see if they were being followed, Cillian and Tess ran into the labyrinthine Kasbah Quarter. They turned left and right at random, losing themselves in winding alleys lined with trendy juice bars and psychic reading parlours.
“Give me your smartCell,” Tess said. “We have to run silent.”
He handed it over, and immediately she prised off the back, popped out the battery and dropped the cell down the nearest drain grating.
“Couldn’t you just turn it off?”
“Not enough.” She ripped out the motherboard, broke it in pieces and tossed the bits down the next grating. “All smartCells have passive RFID chips. They ping listening posts right across the City. The Net’s tapping in 24/7.”
Nimbly her fingers dismantled her own smartCell and scattered the pieces, until she just held the 2 microchips. “We have to obliterate these.”
She clasped Cillian’s hand and discreetly pressed the chips into his palm. “Wait for my signal.” Then she led the way across the road and headed towards a roast chestnut stand.
“2 bags of honey-coated,” Tess said, eyeing the glowing coals.
The seller scratched his dirty beard as he spooned some sweet goo onto a hotplate, then he glanced up with a familiar smile. “Don’t worry, it won’t be as bad as you think.”
“What?” Tess hadn’t expected conversation.
“That frown on your face. Whatever put it there won’t turn out to be so bad. You’ll see.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Trust me. I’ve had this stall 32 years. Seen ‘em walk past, all frowning, the world on their shoulders, everything so urgent.”
“32 years … that’s a lot of chestnuts.”
“Too many to count.” The seller nodded. “I tell you, life goes on whatever.”
As he turned away to rummage for a couple of small paper bags, Tess squeezed Cillian’s hand, and he dropped the microchips into the hot coals.
The seller spooned the chestnuts into the bags and handed them over. “Should do the trick.”
“Thanks.” Tess gave him some money, then turned and hurried away with Cillian.
As she led the way into one of the cloistered alleys, Tess reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. “Where are yours?”
“But it’s snowing.”
“It’s not a fashion statement. Put them on.”
“I haven’t got any with me.”
“Then make sure you avoid eye contact with the billboards.” Tess pointed to a tram shelter further along the street. “They do retinal scans as you pass.”
“It’s not the ad agencies we’re running from.”
“Who knows where the data is sent. Or who’s hacked their servers.” She glared at him. “I’m not joking.”
Hurriedly Cillian wrapped his scarf around his face and looked down, focussing his gaze on the deep footprints in the snow.
They emerged from the Kasbah onto one of the main shopping boulevards that radiated from Olympic Piazza. Normally it would be thronged with people, but the storm had driven most of them indoors, abandoning the pavements to Cleaning-Bots struggling to clear snow.
“The one time you need crowds…” Cillian said edgily.
“Anyone tracking us will still be looking in the Kasbah. At least for now.” Tess pointed down one of the glitzy boulevards. “Let’s try that way.”
Hugging the line of shopfronts, they made their way towards the Piazza. With every step, Tess’s paranoia started to infect Cillian, until his senses were bristling. He studied the trickle of pedestrians walking in the opposite direction, scrutinizing each one for any tell-tale signs of malice, but now they all looked sinister.
“How will they come for us?” he asked.
“I wish I knew.”
The guttural roar of a motorcycle engine revved to their left. Tess spun around and saw a biker cruising down the centre of the road, snow churning in his wheels. His eyes locked onto them.
Tess gripped Cillian’s hand and tried to walk faster, but the motorcycle kept pace.
“Inside,” she whispered, and pulled Cillian towards the palatial glass entrance of an upmarket department store.
It was like entering a parallel universe – a wall of warmth, shiny displays and beautiful shop assistants in immaculate clothes. For a few moments it seemed inconceivable that they were running for their lives. Cillian closed his eyes and breathed in the heady scents wafting around the cosmetics hall. It felt so safe and reassuring—
“Let’s cut through to the service roads.” Tess’s voice jolted him back to reality.
They hurried past shoppers browsing jewellery and leather goods, then pushed through some little-used swing doors leading back outside.
The street was deserted, the snow lay deep and undisturbed. It would be a while until the bots got round to clearing these alleys.
Heads down, collars up, keeping as low a profile as possible, they started to hurry away, but had barely gone 10 paces when a 4×4 pulled up sharply across the end of the street.
The doors opened and 3 men got out. “It’s all right, Cillian,” one of them said. “You can trust us.”
“Just step away from the girl,” a man in a grey suit instructed. “Let us deal with her.”
60
“Run!” Tess grabbed Cillian’s arm and pulled him back down the alley.
“Cillian, you’re making a mistake!” one of the men shouted. “We’re here to protect you.”
“They’re lying!” Tess urged.
Cillian glanced over his shoulder, but strangely the men weren’t chasing them. “Are they police?”
“No.”
“Revelation?”
Tess shook her head. “We’d be dead by now.”
They heard the powerful roar of an engine. Moments later an armoured security van swerved round the corner and sped towards them, cutting off their escape route. It skidded to a halt, the doors burst open and men in dark fatigues spilled out of the back, fanning across the road.
“Cillian, you need to trust us,” the man in the suit called from the other end of the alley.
“No, you don’t!” Tess span around, desperately looking for another way out. But it was useless. Figures were closing in from all sides.
“She’s the danger, not us,” the suit warned. “We’re on your side. Don’t let her trick you again!”
“Don’t listen to him.”
“You’re safe now,” the suit said calmly. “We won’t harm you.”
Cillian turned and looked at him … he seemed so normal—
Until he drew the gun.
“No!” Cillian yelled.
The bullet cracked through the alley and Tess slumped forward, her blood spattering across the snow.
“NO!”
Time slipped a gear.
Furious energy surged through Cillian’s body.
He rushed for the man in the suit. He would take them out. All of them. It would be easy—
Until a searing pain erupted in the small of his back and he stumbled.
He reached back and felt a steel dart, deeply embedded into his skin.
Desperate to stop whatever chemical was flooding his bloodstream, he yanked it out, feeling his flesh tear.
THUNK! THUNK! 2 more darts were fired into his shoulders.
A surge of defiance welled up inside him.
He leapt across the alley, grabbed one of the men and hurled him through the air.
“Restraints!” a voice shouted.
Suddenly a cold steel collar clamped around Cillian’s neck. He heard the hydraulics whine as the collar tightened, crushing his airway.
“And again!”
Another metallic clang and a collar clamped around his right leg. Cillian turned to see 3 men holding a pole attached to it, pulling his leg from under him.
Desperately he tried to fight them off, but the more he struggled, the tighter they closed in.
So this is what it came to: being hunted down like an animal.
He saw Tess’s bleeding body being carried towards the security van. Somehow he had to help her, but the weakness inside was spreading so fast he couldn’t even stand up.
The men dragged him through the snow, following the trail of Tess’s blood.
He tried to dig his feet in, but they just slid hopelessly on the ice.
One final dart—
And everything went black.
61
The instant he woke, Cillian knew he’d been here before.
He was in a glass cube that was a disturbing mix of child’s bedroom and laboratory.
Monitoring screens and cartoon characters jostled for wall space, the small bed was rigged with a host of biological sensors, the plastic toys scattered across the floor all had embedded LEDs that blinked as they sent data streams to a control plinth outside the cube.
It was as if childhood innocence had been smashed into cutting edge science.
Cillian peered into the gloom beyond the glass walls and could make out similar cubes dotted across a vast floor, but they were all empty.
Gilgamesh.
He must be back in Gilgamesh, a prisoner in one of those degenerate wards.
Hunting for clues, he looked up through the glass ceiling, the only link with the outside world, and stared at the moonlit clouds being driven silently past on freezing winds. A few seconds later he saw the reassuring flicker of aircraft lights passing overhead, coming in to land. This wasn’t the barren sky of the Provinces; he was still in Foundation City.
Somewhere.
He sat on the edge of the small bed and studied the room: carved squirrels on the 4 corners of the bedstead … a duvet cover, pale blue with pictures of old cars. His gaze darted across the toys perched on every surface. There were different shaped bricks that fitted together in a colourful puzzle, a plastic ball studded with push buttons, a wooden train track with bridges and tunnels, penny racers, a bright yellow excavator…
And as he looked, Cillian felt his fingers twitch. They knew what to do with each of these toys. That red sports car – if you pressed the roof, it made an engine sound and flashed its lights; the model robot – if you flipped it upside down and folded the limbs, it became a spaceship.
A clockwork mobile hung above the bed, sheep jumping over a fence. He reached out and pulled the string. “Old MacDonald” chimed soothingly.
And he knew that sound.
Not just the tune, but that exact sound, with the 2 flat notes…
It opened the floodgates.
Images cascaded from his subconscious—
I
see it.
Rich patterns of memories suddenly illuminated, and Cillian knew what every inch of this floor looked like right down to the last scuff-mark.
He knew how the shadows fell throughout the day.
He remembered adults coming in and out, some to play or talk or sing to him, others to give him injections or plug him up to machines with glowing displays.
Memory triggered memory, building intricate, detailed patterns, creating such an intense feeling of belonging that he knew for sure…
This was once his room.
This was where the missing years of his life had been spent; everything before his third birthday belonged in here.
It was as if a door that had been stubbornly closed all his life had been suddenly thrown open, and the torrent of memories temporarily washed away all other concerns.
Cillian felt joy, relief and an overwhelming sense of nostalgia as he reconnected.
He sank to his knees, buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
62
“We’ve kept it exactly as it was on the day you left.”
Cillian looked up and saw a tall, elegant woman with blonde hair, standing in the cube.
“Cosy, isn’t it?” She smiled with eyes that were somehow older than the rest of her face.
Cillian knew that smile: he’d seen it before, a long time ago.
“I’m sorry we had to intervene,” Gabrielle said. “We’d much rather you were independent, making your own choices, that’s the whole point of this stage. But your life was in danger and you’re far too valuable to lose.”
All the warmth of belonging drained away, as Cillian remembered being captured on the street and dragged into the security van. Instinctively he reached to the small of his back, feeling for the wound left by the dart. It wasn’t there.
“They told me it got a bit rough,” Gabrielle said, as if reading his mind. “But you’ve healed well.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Just tonight.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” His hand felt for the wound again, but there was no dressing. His flesh was smooth and complete.
“A little bit of biotech we’re working on,” Gabrielle said with a mischievous smile. “Pretty impressive, even if I say it myself.”
Maladapted Page 14
