Kymiera

by Steve Turnbull

  ‘I’m sorry, that was a lie. I felt your back.’ She spoke each word slowly and separately, as if that would make them easier to say. ‘I was surprised. I mean, I was shocked. I don’t know what else to say, I’m sorry.’

  She looked up again, as if she was a supplicant hoping for forgiveness, or absolution. But Chloe was distant and did not give it.

  ‘I want to help you, Chloe.’

  ‘Nobody can help me.’

  She was right, of course, there really was nothing Sapphire could do. She could not change Chloe’s fatal destiny.

  ‘But we could talk,’ she said. ‘Your parents, they don’t know yet, do they?’

  Chloe was silent again.

  ‘Look, perhaps we could meet, in the evening, tonight.’

  Chloe crossed one leg over the other and placed her hands protectively in her lap. ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you. And even if I did, you might get infected.’

  She knows everything.

  ‘No, I don’t...I—I didn’t mean that,’ said Sapphire. ‘I meant a public place, a restaurant. I could tell you what you could do. I know how the Purity does things. I might be able to help you, at least a little.’

  The harshness of Chloe’s gaze softened a little. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I will meet you.’

  Sapphire smiled and opened a drawer. She extracted the card that Chris had given her. She placed it on the table, and slid it across towards Chloe.

  The girl looked at it. ‘Expensive.’

  ‘Nobody will know us.’

  Chloe got up, picked up her bag and slipped it over her shoulder. She went to the door, opened it, and then turned back. ‘What time?’

  ‘Nine o’clock?’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Chloe.

  Chapter 15

  Melinda

  Another day of inactivity followed. They continued to feed her, but she was not taken for any tests. Evening came and the lights blinked off.

  Her patience was running out.

  The energy she could see flowing through the wires did not change. She had assumed she was under constant surveillance, but perhaps that wasn’t the case. Just because there was a camera did not mean they were watching her every minute of every day. As far as any watchers might be concerned, she did nothing much except eat and excrete. They couldn’t read her thoughts and that was where the danger lay.

  There was only one way to find out whether she was being watched, but it was probably going to hurt.

  She worked her tied wrist so she could get the index fingers of each hand on either side of the plastic tie that held her. Attempting to keep the power level low, although she had no idea how it might work, she imagined the electricity flowing through her fingers.

  There was a crack as a spark flashed from one finger to the next around the plastic. She grimaced and held the pain inside. They might be listening too. The fact the electricity generated light couldn’t be helped.

  She rubbed her fingers along the tie itself and detected a slight indentation where there hadn’t been one before. It was working. She got in position again and zapped the plastic. She found she could maintain the spark for a few moments, although it was like having needles jabbed into the tips of her fingers.

  The smell of burning plastic filled her nostrils and she could see, by the light of her work, globs of plastic forming and dripping away. The heat increased and she had to stop. She jammed her burned fingers into her mouth. The skin was hardened and numbed. She wondered if she’d destroyed all the nerves in the tips.

  Holding the plastic tie in her free hand and using the strength from both she jerked it taut. It snapped and she fell back on to the bed. She gave a little grunt of satisfaction.

  Got you, you bastards.

  She stood up and stretched. The cut in her back seemed to have healed fairly well and only pulled a little. She wished there were proper clothes she could change into, but she was stuck in the unflattering and revealing hospital gown.

  She lay down on the bed and waited for the alarm.

  Time passed and nothing happened.

  The next problem was going to be the door. She went over to examine it. She had never heard any bolts, just the sound of the key which was always withdrawn after locking.

  She tried something new. The lock was metal, steel probably, so it would carry a current. She touched one index finger to the top of it, the other at the bottom and gave it a little burst of power. Her electricity sense saw it light up as the power went through it. She already knew she could see through a solid object if there was an electrical field behind it, but up to now it had either been the wires in the walls, or the confused glow of electrical circuits. Now, as her power ran through the metal of the lock, she could see it in three dimensions.

  Taking her time—she had hours before breakfast—she examined the mechanism, using occasional flashes of power to check it again. Her initial excitement wore off; there was nothing she could do with it. She might be able to see it but she couldn’t make it open.

  Eventually she sat down on the cold stone floor with her back to the door. If she could have generated magnetism it might have been a different matter. She would have to wait until someone opened the door for her, and that would mean tackling two men.

  Perhaps she should have taken up Chloe’s invitation to join that jujitsu class.

  She went back to the bed and curled up beneath the single blanket in the cold.

  The sound of the key in the lock brought her awake. It was only when she realised her wrist was not attached to the bed that she remembered she had freed herself the night before and was planning an escape. She slammed her wrist up to where the other end of the plastic was attached to the bedstead by way of pretence.

  The iron bedstead.

  They were coming through the door. Melinda sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes as if she were tired. She sat on the edge of the bed as the first guard came in, with the usual burner trained on her. It suddenly occurred to her how surprising that was. They didn’t know.

  If there was any time the cameras would be on it would be now, while they were in her room, so she could be monitored. The second guard entered with her breakfast, and moved to the bed. Melinda slid her free hand down to the metal of the bedstead under the thin mattress, and with the one that was supposedly tied up she grabbed the top of the bed to make a circuit.

  As the second guard placed the tray on the bed, Melinda blasted power through the metal. Melinda watched as the room lit up with power. All the guards carried electrical equipment. She saw their circuitry glow for a moment. The wires in the walls lit up in sympathy. The camera made an audible pop as its little red light went out. The room went dark as the bulb overloaded. Moments later the power she’d generated was eclipsed by the burner. It shone like a supernova and Melinda felt herself twisting up, as if her insides wanted to turn somersaults. The guard holding the weapon cried out in pain.

  The light went out and Melinda recovered. She threw herself at the second guard. Their rubber helmets were not sealed, and she slid her hands up inside. She felt skin with both hands and zapped—trying not to kill him. The effect was instant. He crumpled to the ground, dragging her with him.

  The burner hit the ground with a clatter. The first guard was grasping for the door in the dark. Melinda could see his shape in the electricity of his nerve endings. His heart pumped furiously.

  He was facing away from her. She got behind him and put her foot against the door to stop it opening any further. He tried to turn. She couldn’t get her hands inside his helmet. He grabbed her arm with his gloved hand; she yanked it away and his glove flew off with it. He grabbed her wrist more firmly with his bare hand. This time she managed to get her hand inside his helmet. And it was over. He dropped like a felled tree, and the light went out of him.

  Her extra sense told her that the other was still alive, but this one wasn’t.

  She found she didn’t care.

  The hall was dark, but she had been alo
ng it enough times to know where she should go. She knew there were cameras at strategic positions, but they weren’t functioning either.

  She hadn’t blown the whole place, and a distant light revealed the end of the short corridor. She peeked round the corner. Nobody yet. The nearest working light was at the far end, shining through the double doors.

  They would be coming soon. She checked her battery by looking inward. It looked dimmer, but she still had plenty of juice.

  The next corridor was similar to the one that led to hers, and through the door she could see the form of someone else. She scooted down to the end. Her door had a board outside it which gave her name. Bringing her index fingers close together she made a light. Cooper, Vanessa. Asset 25.

  Melinda was room 26. Were they really holding that many?

  ‘Vanessa?’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  Melinda blinked in astonishment.

  In the distance there was a crash of something heavy impacting with something yielding. Were they coming already? If they were, why would they be smashing stuff? They have keys.

  ‘I’m a prisoner too.’

  ‘Just piss off.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Here to rescue me?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Got a key?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Melinda backed away. She knew Vanessa Cooper was one of the abductees. So why was she being so weird?

  Another crash followed by splintering.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ said Melinda and ran back to the main corridor before Vanessa had a chance to deliver some caustic reply. As she reached the end, Melinda heard something heavy stomping in her direction. Freak.

  She was expecting a massive monster out of a nightmare, but from the next corridor came something surprisingly short. And not at all nightmarish. In the dim light the silhouette resembled a turtle walking on two legs. No taller than Melinda herself.

  They stared at one another for a second. As her eyes adjusted, Melinda realised there was a girl’s face in the middle of a hairless head with some sort of bump in the forehead. Her attention was caught by shadows moving behind the double doors at the end.

  ‘Who are you?’ said the turtle. The voice was a girl’s.

  ‘Melinda.’

  The double glow of a burner snaked down the corridor and hit the turtle. She didn’t even flinch.

  ‘I’m Lucy,’ said the girl. ‘You killed the lights?’

  The burner fired again. This time the beams swept across Lucy’s back and hit Melinda. It tingled and she smelled smoldering cloth. Melinda side-stepped to put Lucy between her and the gun.

  ‘We can’t get out,’ said Lucy.

  ‘But we’re free.’

  ‘No, they have gas and real guns. I’ve tried.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  There was shouting.

  ‘You do electrical things?’

  Melinda nodded.

  ‘Then you have to get a message out.’

  ‘They tried to cut me open!’

  ‘Better act fast then.’ With that Lucy ran at her and jumped on her, carrying her to the ground. It felt like the time her dad accidentally fell on her.

  ‘Fight me,’ said Lucy.

  Melinda struggled. Lucy’s skin was solid but jointed, as if she was wearing armour. Melinda tried to zap her but it had no effect.

  Men rushed up around them.

  ‘I got her!’ shouted Lucy.

  Melinda felt the prickle of a spray injection and then everything went fuzzy.

  Chapter 16

  Yates

  Yates stared at the neutral image of Lament on the screen.

  Lament spoke. ‘I don’t need gratitude, DS Yates.’

  ‘Of course not, you’re a machine.’

  ‘I am not a machine.’

  ‘A lot of you is.’

  ‘I am connected to a lot of machines, yes, but I am not one.’

  Yates looked out at the buildings flicking past as they shot through a residential district. The wind was up and blowing ice crystals across the roofs in gusts of white. He shivered even though it wasn’t cold in the car.

  ‘How many things are you doing right now?’

  ‘A few.’

  ‘You’re evading the question,’ said Yates.

  ‘I didn’t know this was a cross-examination.’

  ‘And you’re still evading it.’

  ‘Would a machine evade the question?’ said Lament.

  ‘This is pointless.’

  ‘On that we agree.’

  ‘Are we there yet?’ said Yates.

  The car drew up outside the closed ironwork gates to a facility based in the south of the city. Yates waited while the wirehead negotiated with whatever security system the company employed. Old-style cameras were mounted on the stone pillars.

  After a couple of minutes the gates swung inward.

  The roadway was crumbling tarmac with weeds growing in the gaps. Clearly they didn’t feel gardening to be as important as security. Which was fair.

  ‘Briefing?’ said Yates.

  ‘Biotech Control Systems, a wholly owned subsidiary of Utopia Genetics, is run by James Cochran. There are twenty employees of which ten are key research staff. The person we want is Kieran Mortimer, research assistant. Age 56.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Cochran.’

  ‘Not much choice there, they aren’t going to let you talk to anyone else.’

  The dilapidated building was built in the 1950s by the look of it. Perhaps it was one of the old university buildings scattered across Manchester and its suburbs. No doubt Lament could have told him. The central section and the right wing, as you looked at it, were burnt out completely. You could even see daylight through the downstairs windows.

  Only the left wing was in use. The windows were all covered but light bled out around the edges of the blinds. The car drove off the tarmac and on to a rough roadway of brick and stone. It was far from level and water splashed up as the wheels dipped into muddy holes.

  They drew up by an entrance that looked as if it had been hacked from the original wall. Yates got out and wished he’d brought his coat. It was bloody cold, and the wind cut through his clothes.

  Inside the building it was still cold, but at least there was no wind. The receptionist looked up as he came in. Beside her desk stood a man in casual clothes, including a thick polo-neck jumper. He was over fifty and strode forward as Yates entered. He didn’t offer his hand to shake.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Yates, a pleasure to meet you in person.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Well, my wife is something of a fan of DI Mitchell, and yourself, of course.’

  ‘I bask in his reflected glory.’

  Cochran had an easy smile that came readily to his lips. Yates found it immediately suspect.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘James Cochran, and this is my facility. How can I help you?’

  Cochran stopped and waited for Yates to take the lead.

  ‘What do you do here?’

  ‘That’s confidential, naturally. Much of our work is done on behalf of the Purity, as well as Utopia Genetics.’ He beamed at Yates. ‘We’re working to make life better for everyone.’

  If I wanted the brochure text, I could just read it.

  ‘Mind if I look around?’

  ‘I can give you a tour, but the work is commercially sensitive, and I imagine most of it will be over your head anyway.’

  Yates knew how to handle this level of condescension. ‘This is just routine, Mr Cochran. A crime has been committed and we have to investigate all possible avenues.’

  ‘But here?’ said Cochran. ‘What crime?’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s confidential.’

  The smile on Cochran’s lips became wooden.

  Score one for the away team, thought Yates.

  The tour was as boring and uninformative as Yates expected it to be. Each research lab was
behind a wall of glass and everything that looked potentially interesting was hidden behind something else, or, in some cases, covered by a sheet. But ultimately it wasn’t why he was here. Although he did notice the machine for 3D printing of different types of embeddable chips—and when Cochran said ‘embeddable’ he was talking about insertion into ‘biologics’, as he liked to call them.

  Yates’s name for them was people. For some reason he felt as if his own riffy was itching, which was ridiculous because it was too deep to have a surface effect.

  In the same room as the 3D printer was the 56-year-old research assistant, Kieran Mortimer. Yates hadn’t seen a picture, but his name was on his badge. He glanced up and, if Yates wasn’t mistaken, blanched.

  Yates knew there was a particular look to the police. They had a presence, and in some cases it was an advantage to be known as the sidekick of the most effective killer on the force. So Yates grinned at him and winked.

  ‘The fact is,’ said Cochran, though Yates had been barely listening, ‘the work we do also benefits the police.’

  Yates turned to him. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘With improved riffies you can track people more accurately, and get better bio-scan data.’

  ‘I’m not sure you understand the nature of the police, Mr Cochran,’ said Yates. ‘We’re here to remove criminal elements from society so that everybody has a better chance to live a decent life.’

  Cochran laughed. ‘And I thought it was all about control.’

  ‘You would be confusing us with the Purity, sir. An easy mistake to make, but when your house has been broken into and your wife attacked, I think the biologics you’ll be wanting are the ones that solve crime.’

  It was almost dark when Yates got back in the car. The heating was on full, but it took a while for him to thaw out just from the walk from the building.

  ‘Did you get what you wanted?’ said Lament.

  The car moved out on to the tarmac and picked up speed.

  ‘Oh yes, the cat is very definitely among the pigeons. If you would be so good as to track Mr Mortimer, I’m sure it will turn up some leads.’

  Chapter 17

  Mitchell

  ‘I want an armed team available this evening from seven,’ said Graham as he walked into the detectives’ open-plan office. His voice was loud and although he was looking at Mitchell as he said it, it had clearly been intended for everyone.