FAST FORWARD: A Science Fiction Thriller

by Darren Wearmouth

  “That explains his older appearance in your pictures.”

  “It boils down to a simple fact: I’m his only way to immortality and power.”

  Luke closed to within fifty meters and realized it wasn’t Helen standing in front of him. The woman was in her late teens and held a small repeater by the side of her face. “Nice move,” he said. “You didn’t need a decoy.”

  “Can’t be too careful.”

  “Lynch reckoned I nearly died in Clifton Hall. Know anything about that?”

  “I’d say you’re joking but I know who we’re dealing with. Lynch boasted about you being his third scalp. He called you Special Agent OO8, license to nil. I found an entry in Dad’s diary on the day you were drugged. He wrote about his regret, and how he was forced to go along with it to keep me alive.”

  Luke squeezed the brakes and came to an abrupt stop. “Drugged?”

  “That’s his usual way. I guess you were the first.”

  “He told me I suffered brain damage.”

  “I’m sure he’s told you a lot of things. Believe nothing he says and you’ll be closer to the truth.”

  “What about that idiot Meakin?

  “Meakin isn’t an idiot. He’s the most dangerous man in London.”

  The drugging wasn’t a shock after what the old man on the balcony had said, though Luke knew nothing could turn back time, and he could only deal with the here and now. The revelation about Meakin came as more of a surprise. A supposedly dangerous man wouldn't have pathetically submitted to him at Century House, and backed down so easily at the PCC, which meant he’d also been part of the act.

  “We need a plan to take Lynch down,” Luke said. “Where can I meet you?”

  “Ask for Walter at the Mega Dive. He knows how to get in touch.”

  The Zone Seven criminal being her helper came as less of a surprise. Luke now had the information he needed to prioritize the goal of dealing with Lynch although it didn’t excuse killing innocent civilians. “I’ll help if you stop the bombs.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “It’s non-negotiable. There’s something else that doesn’t add up. If Lynch unplugged me to find you, he must’ve known I’d back your side of the story, which begs the question—”

  The buzz of multiple rotorcraft engines echoed in the sky. Four powered over the top of distant apartment blocks, flying toward the perimeter from a southerly direction. At the far end of the road, twenty armed claycops charged from behind buildings.

  “There’s a mass deployment at the Waltham clayport,” Helen said. “Get the hell out of here.”

  Luke turned his bike, rejoined the gravel track, and strained to build up speed.

  A large dark blue armored vehicle, with a reflective metal plate on its roof, rumbled over a distant hill and headed in his direction. He’d seen prototype directed-energy weapons, capable of causing a burning sensation all over the body, and this had the same characteristics. Mirrored screens concealed the driver; plumes of thin white smoke belched from the undercarriage.

  He skidded to halt and looked over his shoulder. Another armored vehicle approached from the opposite side of the track, cutting off another escape route. The claycops increased in number to forty and fanned around him in a wide semicircle.

  Two of the rotorcrafts hovered above him, both with side doors open and restrainer cannons aimed down. Two others descended and their skids bumped against the ground close to the play area.

  The side panel of the nearest one slid open and David Meakin stepped out. He locked his icy stare on Luke and drew a pistol.

  Chapter 22

  Luke dismounted his bike and threw it to one side. The armored trucks closed to within forty meters of either side of him. Claycops blocked every route between the apartment blocks, crouching with rifles shouldered as multiple red dots flickered around his chest. A squad of six broke away and filed under the church’s archway toward its entrance.

  Four armed men followed Meakin out of the rotorcraft and spread in a line behind him, aiming forward like a World War I firing squad.

  The downdraft from the two airborne crafts swept a sheet of rain against Luke’s face. He wiped his eyes and let his arm rest by his side—close enough to quickly draw his pistol if the only option was to go down in a blaze of glory. He could see no credible way to get out of this unscathed, and he no longer believed Meakin blundered into his investigation through incompetence; not with a coordinated show of force like this.

  “Hands up,” Meakin said. “Unless you want the restrainer cannon?”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Luke shouted.

  “We’ve received evidence implicating you in recent terrorist attacks. You’re coming in for questioning.”

  “Are you serious? I was unplugged three days ago.”

  “Do I look like I’m joking? What’s in the church?”

  “What you employed me to find.”

  Meakin frowned, feigning confusion. “You're an ex-con from Leeds, who assaulted a man in Enfield today and visited a suspected site of a terror cell. It’s all in our audio interceptions.”

  “Give it a rest. Some of these goons probably saw me in the PCC.”

  “You’re deluded.”

  Luke had to give him his due; the man could act. He would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation had it not been for the steely determination in Meakin’s eyes. One thing he couldn’t understand was how they descended on him so quickly in such high numbers. He guessed Maria relayed his intended destination, but he didn't blame her for that as the situation had rapidly changed since he left her in Enfield.

  “Last chance,” Meakin said. “Three seconds to put your hands up.”

  “This is bullshit, and you know it.” Luke locked his fingers over the top of his head. “I want to see Lynch.”

  Meakin waved two of his goons forward. One advanced to within a few meters and aimed at Luke’s face. The other circled him, slipped the knife out of his pack, his gun out of its holster, and patted down his body before returning to Meakin and handing him the weapons.

  “A knife for a caveman,” Meakin said and pointed the blade at one of the armored vehicles. “You’re traveling back in one of our new Clayport Carriers. Enjoy the interrogation.”

  Meakin spun and headed back inside the rotorcraft. His four goons followed like obedient little puppies, and the door closed behind them.

  Luke stepped back, away from the rotor wash as the craft lifted above the apartment blocks. A distorted face appeared in one of rain smeared porthole windows a moment before it thrust back toward central London. If Meakin had attempted to throw down a smug grin, he failed miserably.

  “You heard the boss,” a gruff voice said. “Head for the carrier. One false move and I’ll put fifty-thousand volts up your ass.”

  Two stocky claycops closed in, grabbed an arm each, and frog-marched Luke to open doors at the back of the vehicle.

  The Vicar shouted in the distance, protesting his innocence. Luke stopped and glanced back. The cops dragged him forward with claytronic ease, to the point where his toes scraped along the gravel, and it reminded him to discover a practical way of defeating the sensory controlled bullying machines.

  Ten circular lights in the carrier’s ceiling brightened a large cabin space. To the near end, bolts secured four claystations, comprising of two transparent benches on each side, headsets fastened to the walls, and small screens above.

  At the far end, a single chair faced toward the doors with straps on its arms and legs, and above it, a headset attached to the ceiling by a chrome rod, making the rear section look like a mobile version of Sing Sing’s execution chamber.

  “Want me to sit on Old Sparky?” Luke asked.

  “Smart ass, eh?” said the cop on the left, and dug his fingers into Luke’s shoulder. “Head inside and put your wrists and ankles against the restraints.”

  Private Meeting displayed across the rear wall screen. The same cop shoved
the back of Luke’s head, throwing him off balance, and he crashed against the tread metal floor between the claystations.

  “Get in the chair,” the cop said. “Prisoners have been known to have accidents under my watch. It’d be a shame if you slipped and knocked your front teeth out.”

  Luke hauled himself to his feet and eyed the cop, not wanting to forget his face for future reference. His long thin nose and round eyes giving him an unforgettable owlish appearance.

  Owl pointed his pistol at Luke and adjusted a switch on the side. “Five. Four. Three. Two.”

  Luke scrambled to the chair and sat down. The rubber restraints automatically twisted around his wrists and ankles and tightened. The helmet whirred down on its rod and pushed against the top of his head. When the doors to the carrier slammed shut and its engine roared, a connection indication appeared on the HUD of his visor.

  Everything went black, Luke’s senses floated in zero gravity, and an environment didn't immediately build around him. For some reason, it took longer this time than his previous plunges into virtual worlds. Wherever they had sent him, his first and only immediate objective was to escape.

  A clear blue sky built overhead.

  Luke’s back, head, and heels took his weight.

  Sirens blared.

  Smoke rose to his left.

  He could only move his arms and legs a few inches. Luke rolled his head to the side and peered through the dusty air.

  Two dead men lay by a flattened security gate. Someone in a red t-shirt pointed smartphone toward him. Luke roared through gritted teeth. Lynch had commissioned an environment based on the terrorist attack in Egypt. The very reason he had visited Clifton Hall in the first place, and ended up fifty years in the future.

  If it wasn’t personal already, this has pushed it way past the point of no return.

  The man in the red t-shirt approached, and as he walked through the cloud of dust and neared, his body shape and face became identifiable.

  Gideon Lynch.

  Lynch tossed the smartphone to one side and stood over Luke. “You nearly kissed me in New Zealand.”

  “What?” Luke replied with undisguised rage.

  “I could see it in your eyes. Don’t deny it.”

  “Is that how you get your kicks? Pretending to be a woman?”

  “I’m as real as it gets, Sugar,” Lynch said in a female voice, repeating Cindy’s words from the Piha Surf Club environment. “Have a feel if you don’t believe me.”

  Luke shivered after remembering Cindy sliding her hand up his thigh, but he remembered he hadn’t compromised himself during the short time he spent there. “What’s your game, Lynch?” he asked.

  “If you want to catch a hungry trout you have to use a juicy worm.”

  “Cut the gobbledygook for once in your life.”

  “You’re a worm. Helen’s a trout. It fits perfectly. I threw you into the water, let you float toward her, and she took the bait.”

  “Disengage,” Luke snapped.

  “Why even try? Helen mouthed off to you about my session control.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lynch crouched down. “I told you fifty years ago it was all about integration. That’s the thing with government robots; you never pay attention. I wasn’t about to send you out into the world without tracing your every move. You had a listening device and transceiver in your new thumb.”

  Luke raised his cybernetic hand. The program had replaced it with mangled fingers. Not entirely accurate to his injuries but it illustrated the point.

  “Taunt me all you want,” Luke said. “You’ll be dead soon.”

  “Unlikely. I never suspected Walter, though. He usually does anything for credit. Maybe he will again? We’ll see.”

  “Nobody lives forever. You’re gone. I was your last shot at singularity, and Helen’s too smart for you. How does that feel?”

  Lynch pressed his sandal against Luke’s injured hand, sending shooting pains up his arm. “How does that feel, TS03?”

  Luke winced as he unsuccessfully attempted to shake free. After the events of the last hour, he knew Lynch and his goon force had to be tackled. Citizens in 2070 didn't seem to have an appetite for a fight, probably through fear of ending up in a transport system. He had no such concerns and relished the prospect of taking down Timetronic.

  “You’re under my power,” Lynch said. “Everyone is to some degree.”

  “It’s why you need stopping.” Luke pictured his first sight of Lynch, plowing through a herd of deer in the demented belief he was exercising them, and it served as a visually chilling precursor to how the doctor attempted to control modern society. “When I find a way out of here, and I will, Timetronic’s virtual worlds will come crashing down around your ponytail.”

  Lynch grunted a laugh. “This isn’t The Matrix, you pillock.”

  “There’s more than just me to worry about.”

  “Do you think Maria will come to the rescue? Her promise to unplug you was cute, but I guarantee it won’t happen.”

  “Leave her out of it. She’s a decent woman.”

  “So was Emily Davison, but King George the fifth’s horses still killed her. Do you think Maria’s a latter-day suffragette? She dived in front of the horse of progress, and I command the hoof.”

  “You’re boring me,” Luke said. “Say what you came to say and leave me in peace.”

  “The next fifty years in Wandsworth Prison should give you all the peace you need. You’re not good enough for the facility but Maria can join my other assets …”

  Lynch punishing Maria for no other reason than throwing her into his sick game of chess sent Luke’s pulse soaring, though he maintained a calm exterior, refusing to outwardly rise to the doctor’s barbs. Instead, he focused on how the country could free itself from the Timetronic’s technology forged chains, and wondered whether a full unplug at the facility might expose a mass injustice the population couldn’t ignore.

  “I bet you didn’t see this coming?” Lynch asked. “To be fair, you didn’t see the Cairo bombs either so you’re consistent in your blindness.”

  “You really are a piece of work. Was killing Sir Henry part of your plan?”

  “You’re in no position to ask questions. I’ll get Walter to crack. That’s all you need to know.”

  “You pulled the trigger too early. What if Walter disappears? You’ll be back in the same situation; withering away while dreaming of copying your twisted mind to a server.”

  Lynch eased his sandal off Luke’s hand. “I was prepared to give you a second chance, despite hating you from the moment we met. I’m not an unreasonable man. However, I can’t accept being called a deviant.”

  “Why not?” Luke said and glared into Lynch’s eyes. “You are deviant, and I’ll be coming for you with all I’ve got.”

  “You’re a cretin. Enjoy the added extras I ordered for you. Disengage.”

  Lynch’s image disappeared in a flash.

  A reoccurring fire crackled around the front entrance of the embassy building and pixelated blocks of rubble lay around Luke’s body, giving him a sharp sense of deja vu. Unless Timetronic had drugged him, his one shot at breaking free was after they disengaged him. Whatever the risk, the promise of spending another fifty years in a transport system meant he had to go for it.

  A spherical black ball whistled through the sky, hurtled down toward the embassy, and smashed into the lawn with a shuddering boom.

  Dirt spewed into the air and showered Luke.

  Before, he wanted justice; now he wanted revenge.

  Chapter 23

  Thirty bombs had dropped over the last fifteen minutes, creating perfectly shaped craters in the ground around Luke. Dirt and debris covered his body and half-buried Luke’s head. The constant explosions, spouting out the same amount of flames every time, did nothing to scare him but he guessed that wasn’t the intention.

  Lynch had used the imagery to mock him, and keep the Cairo attack at the front
of his mind while showcasing Timetronic’s direct power over man-machine interfaces once connected to their network.

  A dual tone pinged in Luke’s ear.

  The scene disappeared to emptiness.

  The transfer back to reality happened quicker this time. His backside immediately took the majority of his weight, the chair’s restraining straps squeezed against his wrists and ankles, and he focused on the carrier’s brightly lit cabin.

  Luke breathed a sigh of relief after his full senses returned and he hadn’t been injected with a sedative to keep him in a stupor during transport. He tensed against his restraints, causing them to tighten. When he relaxed, they loosened a few millimeters back to their original pressure.

  Claycops had left him alone in the back of the carrier, and on the face of it, he understood why; he couldn't escape from the chair, they were heading for prison, and he wasn’t armed. To top that off, he had a listening device and transceiver in his thumb, drones patrolled outside the urban pools, and Timetronic had tight control over the majority of London.

  Lynch had also shown him, in no uncertain terms, the price for failing to comply. Luke doubted most citizens would risk harboring a wanted man and attract the wrath of the Lynch mob.

  Zone Seven was the only place to go if he escaped, and even that carried enormous dangers with its toxic mix of ex-cons and claycops. Lynch had spoken with confidence about paying for Walter’s loyalty, and after meeting him earlier in The Mega Dive, Luke would’ve agreed had it not been for one thing: the tin pot mafia boss was Helen’s contact, and she’d been running rings around Lynch for ten years.

  Finding Walter and Helen, warning them, and leaning on their experience presented his best opportunity for limited freedom, and some breathing space to devise a strategy for Lynch.

  The carrier halted, and its brakes hissed. Boots thumped against the ground, the back doors flung open, and daylight streamed inside.

  Owl features entered with his pistol raised, lifted a protective panel on the left wall, and tapped on a glass pad. “After release, I want you to come out slow.”