Four stared cross-eyed at the fist for a second, and then clapped Nine.
‘Respect.’
Nine was too busy with the Sigma agent to even hear Four. She had his wrist firmly clamped in her bionic hand. He tried to pull free, but she tightened her grip and no matter how hard he struggled he could not escape. The two were locked in a standoff.
Nine had real fighting cred – judo, black belt, wrestling, and a reputation for fitness and strength. The Sigma agent knew he might end up on his back if he took her on. But then there was his pride to consider, and the good name of his squad. A tense silence filled Pendulum as everyone watched and waited for who would make the next move.
‘That’s enough,’ said a voice from the other side of the room.
Nine flinched but kept her hold on the Sigma agent. She knew the cold, hard voice only too well. It was Alpha Agent Two, the official leader of Sigma Squad.
‘If BA004 wants to let a girl do his fighting,’ Alpha Two said as he crossed the room, ‘that’s his business. It’s the sort of spineless act you’d expect from an amoeba.’ He walked right up to Nine. ‘I’d let go now if I were you,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Unless you want me to slap a Section 2.8 Discipline Order on you. And make no mistake, I will.’
Nine glared defiantly back. She couldn’t stand Alpha Two, and felt like head-butting him just for the pleasure of decking the creep. But he was student rep on council at the College for Independent Studies. That meant he was almost certainly a MANIC mole and thus could make life a misery for her.
Even so, she only backed down because Five caught her attention. No, his eyes said; you need to be smarter than this.
She shoved the Sigma agent’s arm away with all the disdain she could muster.
Alpha Two sniggered and called to his squad. ‘Let’s go. We’ve got better things to do than hang around amateurs.’ He brushed slowly past Nine, too close for comfort. ‘I’m surprised you’re still holding 004’s hand after all the trouble he got you into.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she snapped.
‘The stuff-up in Stalingrad. That got nasty, didn’t it?’ He turned and stared straight at Four. ‘Talk about stink. You’re the ones on the nose.’
‘How do you know about Stalingrad?’ said Five. ‘Missions are supposed to be secret.’
‘Ha. You wish.’ Alpha Two sneered and walked to the door. ‘It’s all over HQ. You lot are a joke.’
He stood in the doorway for a bit, shaking his head. Then he left, taking his squad with him. The Omega agents stared at each other, suddenly feeling very flat.
‘Come on, you two,’ Four said, throwing his arms around Five and Nine. ‘Forget about that lot. We’re here for a treat.’ He called out to Lorenzo, the android barista. ‘Three Rocket Shakes with double cream all round. My shout.’
‘Request registered, BA004,’ Lorenzo replied and began mixing the drinks.
As he mixed he sang a song. The squad members glanced at each other, trying not to laugh. Lorenzo’s songs were never in tune.
The android had been at Pendulum forever, it seemed. He was an early model, and would normally have been replaced by one of the professor’s latest creations that were so human they seemed real. But he’d grown on people over the years, and become a kind of fixture, despite his expressionless face, his lifeless glass eyes, and his lips that were never in sync. As everyone agreed, Pendulum would not be the same without Lorenzo.
‘Make that four Rocket Shakes.’
The squad members looked up. Alpha Agent One stood at the door, smiling.
‘Throw in extra Sherbet Shocks as well,’ he added. ‘And make it my shout, Lorenzo.’
But then his smile vanished. ‘We need to talk,’ he said. He bundled them into an alcove and they huddled round him.
‘There’s been another big security breach targeting Prof’s program.’ He kept his voice low. ‘The mission you’ve just come back from was hacked into … while you were on it.’
‘What? Who?’ they all said at once.
‘That’s just it, we don’t have a clue. Not a single digi-print, no data tracks or info-trails at all. The first thing we knew of the breach was when they posted whole chunks of your mission on HQ intranet while you were debriefing with Prof.’
‘No wonder Alpha Two knew about Stalingrad,’ said Nine.
Alpha One let out a long, deep sigh and buried his face in his hands.
‘What is it?’ said Five. ‘What’s wrong?’
Alpha One slid his hands down his face and held them prayer-like in front of his lips. ‘I might be way off the mark for all I know. But …’ He paused, as if unsure whether to continue.
‘But what?’ asked Nine. She’d never seen Alpha One so stressed and unsure.
‘I’ve been watching things for quite a while now,’ he continued, ‘you know, keeping an eye out while keeping in the background – and I’m pretty sure that something big is going on. What’s more, I have a sneaking suspicion that it may have been going on for a while.’
‘What do you mean, big?’ said BA005.
‘I think someone is trying to take over Prof’s research program.’
‘Operation Battle Book? Who would want to do that?’ said BA004.
‘I can’t say exactly, but at the very least there’d be plenty of scientists who would love to get their hands on Op BB. It’s one of the most successful research programs ever.’
‘That’s right,’ said Four. ‘Think Dr Vandakrol for a start. That creep would steal Prof’s work without a second thought.’
‘Exactly. Or maybe there are even bigger players with their eye on Prof’s program. Her Battle Book library alone is huge, full of Time and Energy. And then there’s her Warrior Data Bank and all the work she’s done on gadgets and weapons. It’s a gold mine of data and cutting edge technology.’
‘Does Prof know about this?’ asked 005.
‘Yes and no. She thinks she has Operation Battle Book well guarded. And that used to be true. But recently there have been some high-tech hackings into her program. This latest one is at least the third in less than a month. There may have been more, for all we know. That sort of hacking technology has taken a leap in the last six months, and it covers its tracks very effectively. I’ve tried to warn Prof about the growing dangers, but she keeps fobbing me off. It’s like she’s buried her head in the sand over this, hoping it will go away.’
‘But it won’t,’ said 005. ‘Is that what you’re worried about?’
‘I’m sure it won’t. In fact I think it will only get worse.’
‘So what do we do?’ 009 asked.
‘I have a couple of solo missions that I hope will make things clearer. In the meantime, I want you to carry on as usual, at least on the surface. Underneath, keep those eyes and ears open. Be super wary, watch your back all the time, and trust no one.’
The squad members stared at each other, so deep in thought that they hardly noticed the electronic hum at their side.
‘Four Rocket Shakes with double cream and triple Sherbet Shocks.’ Lorenzo slid the shakes onto the table.
‘Thanks, Lorenzo,’ Alpha One said, his beaming smile back in place. ‘Just what we needed.’
‘Glad to be of service, Alpha Agent One.’
FIVE
Battle Agent 005 was the first to leave Pendulum.
He walked to the HQ exit, pressed his hand against a palm pad to log out, and stepped into a lift. A moment later he was in the Municipal Library, just another student. If anyone asked – and the ID eagles did – his card showed he was in Research Unit 7 at the College for Independent Studies; all Battle Agents were at the CIS. It was a special school for elite students, located beneath the library, and operated by Management Incorporated, or MANIC, the organisation that controlled the city of Futura … among other things.
BA005 didn’t really know a great deal about MANIC – few people did – except that it was a vast multinational entity that owned and operated thousan
ds of cities like Futura all over the world. These were not ordinary cities, but highly organised, well-protected urban centres known as Totally Managed Communities. TMCs had grown up because of fear. Climate change and resource wars, terrorism, economic collapse and growing social disorder had made people long for security at any cost. TMCs promised that security.
It came at a price, of course. Personal freedom. Just getting out of the library involved all sorts of checks for BA005 – another palm pad, face fit, iris detector, a full body scan. That was life in a TMC. If you were prepared to give up your personal freedom and let the important decisions be made for you, a TMC was your kind of town. And since most people seemed happy enough to do this, the number of such cities had grown exponentially.
So too had the power of MANIC. The organisation was truly vast, with far-reaching tentacles, the closest thing to world-wide government in the history of the planet. No one could live in a TMC and not feel the embrace of MANIC.
But BA005 wasn’t really concerned with such matters as he left the library that afternoon. He was more interested in the embrace of the afternoon sun. In its warmth he could pretend he was free of MANIC, even though he suspected that was impossible. But at least out here he was no longer a number or a code name. He was Napoleon, a person.
In the same way BA009 was Amazon. BA004, Winston. Or Maz and Win, as Napoleon preferred to think of them. How did they think of him outside the cocoon of CIS? Napper? He hoped they did.
Napoleon nodded to the android security guard stationed outside the library; it was always the same one. ‘Hi, Andy,’ he said. He didn’t know if the android had a name. But the guard hadn’t objected to Andy, so the name stuck. ‘Nice day.’
‘Nice day,’ the guard parroted, and mechanically raised the corners of his lips into a parody of a smile. He kept facing straight ahead, but the eyes of his robotic dog followed Napoleon as he passed.
Recording me, of course, thought Napoleon.
Andogs and catoids were being used more frequently for crowd surveillance and personal spying, Napoleon had noticed. They’d been popular as family pets for years; and what perfect pets they made: fully trained, didn’t need feeding, left no mess, and could be deactivated at a whim. And the latest versions were virtually indistinguishable from the real thing. But their use for surveillance was a master stroke by the faceless masters of MANIC. Suddenly being watched didn’t seem so bad when it was done by something warm and cuddly that purred or wagged its tail.
Napoleon sat down at the top of the sandstone steps and stared back at the andog until it looked away. Then he leaned against a Doric column, soaking up the sun. This was his way of easing himself back into the ‘real world’ – the traffic, the people, the sights, sounds and smells of Futura. Even though he’d been part of Operation Battle Book for years, it still took a while to get back into reality after a mission.
Maz appeared at the library doors. She looked tired, but Napoleon wasn’t surprised. She always pushed herself far too hard; it would catch up to her one day. A few seconds later Win was there as well. They too soaked up the sun, close but separate from each other.
They both glanced towards Napoleon. Their eyes met but there was no acknowledgement. That was the rule. MANIC insisted: There must be no contact, and certainly no fraternising in normal society between Battle Agents. Infringement of that rule could lead to immediate expulsion from the CIS.
Napoleon watched his fellow Battle Agents walk down the sandstone steps from the library. They just looked like two normal kids. And yet less than an hour ago they’d been with him in World War Two – bombs, mortars, grenades and machine guns raging all around them. But if Napoleon were to stop anyone heading home from work and tell them that, they’d think he was mad.
As Maz and Win walked off, Napoleon thought more about them. He had made it his business to know as much as possible about his fellow agents the moment he discovered that they’d be in the same squad as him. MANIC had files on everyone in Futura; you only had to know where to look, and how to cover your tracks. But Napoleon went further; he even followed them home, and he was glad he did. When you’re in the thick of a battle it pays to know what stuff the other agents are made of.
After they’d been swallowed by the crowd, Napoleon stood and stretched. It was time he went as well. His day was still not over; he’d promised his grandmother he’d visit her. So he slipped his laser-board from his backpack, flicked it on, skimmed down the sandstone steps to the street and wove his way into the fabric of the city.
After a while he came to a small square. No more than twenty metres wide and slightly longer, it was overshadowed by tall buildings, a place where people ate lunch on grey concrete benches.
The little square would normally have been empty at this time of day; people were hurrying home from work. But today a crowd had gathered at its edge. As Napoleon drew closer he soon saw why. A tall, thin, bearded man stood on one of the benches giving a speech.
‘Government is a form of trust,’ he shouted. ‘We trust those who govern us to look after us. We even give up some of our rights in the name of public good. But we must beware.’
Napoleon felt that he’d seen this man before, although he couldn’t place where. He was a vagabond, but with a distinctive face – sharp, angular features as if chiselled from stone; strong square jaw; arched nose; piercing dark eyes. His clothes were old and worn, trousers torn at the knee, jacket threadbare and stained. His hair was wispy wild, but the jet black beard that bordered the edge of his chin was surprisingly well trimmed for someone so shabbily dressed.
‘I repeat: We must beware. We must never give up our freedom of thought, our freedom of speech and our freedom of action. Lose those, and we lose everything. Everything!’
Napoleon let his gaze drift across the crowd. Most people didn’t stay long. The citizens of Futura had little interest in politics. Security was their main concern; feeling safe was far more important than feeling free. Nonetheless the crowd was definitely growing and a number of people even appeared to be listening closely. For the man had a marvellous voice – deep, rich and mesmerising.
‘Our forefathers fought for what they thought were self-evident truths – that all men are created equal, endowed with inalienable Rights to Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Think on that, my friends. Take a good look at your own lives and think hard on that!’
Napoleon continued to survey the gathering. He was looking for the Eyes – those MANIC spies that were sprinkled throughout the city, watching everything. Sometimes human, sometimes android, they usually came in pairs and were rarely hard to spot.
He soon saw them. They were in suits, identical dark blue, standard MANIC issue. A mixed pair; one human, one android. The latter was HD-video-capacitive, recording everything through his piercing zoom lens eyes. Napoleon watched him scanning the crowd, and made sure he stepped back behind a tall man as the android panned in his direction.
As he stepped back, Napoleon saw Alpha Agent One. He was on the opposite side of the square, listening intently to the bearded man. Very intently. He seemed totally engrossed.
‘We are in the last days of democracy. Mark my words: if we continue down the path we’re on now, then government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall vanish from the face of the earth.’
Napoleon couldn’t believe that Alpha One was so unaware of the Eyes; that wasn’t at all like him. But he was lost in the words of the bearded man. And the android’s gaze was almost upon him. Napoleon hit the emergency button on his Battle Watch, zapping him into immediate contact with Alpha One, and rapidly muttered a message.
‘Eyes at 12 o’clock. Disappear. Now!’
Alpha One reacted immediately, stepping back just as the android’s gaze was about to hit him. He glanced over at Napoleon and gave him the thumbs up. A moment later he was gone, melting into the crowd.
Napoleon suddenly realised that he’d better leave as well. He had to get to his grandmother before dus
k. He pushed through the people, the words of the bearded man following at the back of his mind – We are in the last days of democracy.
Once free of the crowd, Napoleon activated his laserboard and headed off. This was his second board and he loved it. He’d had it for over a year, but it still wowed him with what it could do. The deck was retro, just like the old skateboard his father had as a kid. But that was the only similarity.
Laserboards had no wheels, of course, or trucks to hang up on, just a reinforced underbelly that pumped out a laser beam five centimetres wide along the length of the board. The beam kept the rider about twenty centimetres above ground – lower if you were a goer – and gave a ride that was fluid and grip tight. And then there was the small matter of speed. You could rocket on a laserboard as fast as you wanted to, up hill and down. The only real limit was how brave you were.
Once out of the busy city centre, Napoleon came to the long straight sections of pavement that bordered the freeway. Here he could crank it to the max, making up for lost time.
Soon he was near the northern outskirts of Futura. As he approached an ornate sign – Autumn Lodge Retirement Village – he decelerated hard and leaned low to corner, using the signpost for a prop as he cross-slid around it.
‘Nice,’ he hissed, and powered up the wide, sweeping driveway.
He was too impressed with his slide-turn to notice the black van that cruised past and pulled over a little way up the road to wait.
SIX
The limousine was parked in the lane at the back of the library. It was the kind of automobile that stood out, especially in the streets of Futura where the most common cars were little Electros, bug-like vehicles built and supplied by MANIC for the benefit of the public. Privately owned cars were rare; powerful twin-turbo diesel-dracs like the limousine extremely rare.
Battle Agent 004 knew the limo would be there; it always was. Father’s orders.
His father’s orders were one of the things Winston Garibaldi Hague hated about being an only kid in a rich family. Another thing was being a Hague as well and having a long line of military ancestors hanging over you like ghosts.
The Time Thieves Page 3
