FAST FORWARD: A Science Fiction Thriller

by Darren Wearmouth

  Luke thrust his boot against the door, and it shattered into hundreds of pieces. He ran straight for the lighter opaque doors, stood in front of them, and they parted.

  For a moment, he froze, shocked at the sight in front of him.

  Helen moved to his side and skidded to an abrupt halt.

  A gaunt old man, wearing a headset, lay on a hospital-style bed, half-covered by a crisp white sheet. A few strands of wispy gray hair, tied into a sparse ponytail, spread across the pillow to his left, identifying him as Gideon Lynch, and he looked close to his nineties. Wires ran from his bony chest to a life support system, the right side of his mouth drooped, and saliva dribbled down his chin.

  “It’s really him,” Helen said. “We made it.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  Luke tentatively stepped closer to the bed as if approaching a King Cobra. He expected to meet an old man, but not in this terminally weak state. Some of Lynch’s previous actions now made more sense; his odd crooked smile likely reflecting a mental awareness of his physical condition, eating the bacon sandwich while in a claytronic state to experience what he was incapable of doing, and falling asleep while his programmable matter version ascended the PCC escalator.

  A woman in a nurse's uniform, who he recognized as Claudia from Century House, rose from in front of an array of monitors and rushed over. “You can't come in here.”

  “Try stopping—” Helen said.

  A shot boomed somewhere inside the barn.

  On a screen above the bed, the view hurtled through the corridor, and the extended barrels of the massive gun rotated as it fired at the front section’s security door. Each round blasted a large hole in the glass and exploded against the far wall. Lynch’s claytronic fist punched away the remaining shards, and he neared the former lab.

  Helen dropped to one knee and swept her rifle toward the entrance. Luke lunged forward, grabbed the headset, and ripped it off the old man’s head.

  The doors parted.

  A light blue translucent image of the doctor stood frozen outside, legs apart in a wide stance, face contorted with rage, and he held the gun in their direction.

  In a heartbeat, the weapon battered against the ground; the body disintegrated into a shimmering cloud, and the doors closed.

  The overhead screen cut to blackness.

  On the bed, Lynch’s right index finger repeatedly curled as if pulling the gun’s trigger. His eyes flickered open, and he took a sharp intake of breath.

  “Too late,” Luke said. He dropped the headset and stamped on it until the blue light around the rim faded. “That’s the thing with corporate robots; you never pay attention.”

  Lynch’s hand slipped underneath the sheet. Luke grabbed his wrist, eased it back up the bed, and removed a Timetronic pistol from the mattress.

  Helen’s eyes thinned as she moved to the opposite side of the bed, and she leaned over doctor’s ghostly white frame. “Why did you kill my father and order Walter’s death?”

  “You can’t treat him like this,” Claudia said and covered Lynch’s stomach with the sheet. “He’s frail and requires round the clock treatment.”

  “He needs more than treatment,” Luke said. “You know what he’s like; I remember seeing you at Century House.”

  “My duty is care. Whatever his faults, he’s still a human being.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “Why did you kill my father and order Walter’s death?” Helen repeated. “I won’t stop asking ‘til I get an answer.”

  “He can’t speak,” Claudia said.

  Lynch raised a trembling fist toward Helen's face and flipped up his middle finger. She took a step back and she swung up her rifle.

  “Stop,” Luke shouted. “Don’t give him an easy way out.”

  “I’m not killing him; I don’t even want him in prison. He’ll live out the rest of his natural life at a secure hospital in Zone Seven, nowhere near any virtual environments or transport systems.”

  Lynch shook his head and his fist sagged to the sheet. Claudia gave the life support machine a concerned look, plumped his pillow, and stood between Helen and the bed.

  Luke guessed she was worried about Helen lashing out after realizing who she was and what Lynch had done to her. He held little sympathy for a man who had spent his life gaining power by whatever means necessary. With the mad doctor secure, he focused on the immediate issues of a goon somewhere outside the barn, and a plan to find Meakin and extinguish his threat.

  “Keep an eye on our freshly minted prisoner,” he said. “I’ll message the Birmingham Squadron from the hall saying he’s under arrest and you’re taking control as the majority shareholder, then I’ll deal with Meakin. I’ve a funny feeling we won’t meet much resistance from the rotorcrafts after Lynch tried to blow them out of the sky.”

  “Can I make the calls from here?” Helen asked Claudia.

  She gave a resigned nod and gestured to the monitors. “You can access the local and national security networks.”

  “That leaves Meakin,” Luke said. “Where is he?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Would you like to stay on the Timetronic payroll?”

  “He’s probably at the gamekeeper’s house. Whatever you find, don’t think I approve of his methods.”

  “I doubt many do. If I’m not back in an hour, be ready for anything.”

  Luke left the lab to the sound of Helen calling Frank, made his way along the corridor, and slowed as he reached the open front entrance. The goon lay sprawled over the sandbags with an ugly exit-wound in the back of his head; likely shot by Lynch in a fit of rage as he realized his empire was crumbling around him. He sighed at the pointless killing which added to the ever-increasing list of crimes, stepped around the body, and headed back to the buggy.

  Five rotorcraft lights dazzled in the distance, sweeping around the estate in a wide arc. Luke checked his watch and the half an hour mark had already passed. He increased his pace to a steady jog, knowing nothing could be taken for granted until Helen was officially in control of Timetronic. Following that, if his suspicions proved true about the patients in the facility, the evidence of widespread corruption would rubberstamp her claim and silence even the most cynical of doubters.

  For the moment though, Meakin remained priority number one.

  Chapter 34

  Luke steered the buggy over a smooth dirt track, racing directly toward the distant lights of the gamekeeper’s house. He had no plans to sway from his course and scare deer or any other innocent creatures like Lynch did on the same route fifty years ago. With the immediate claytronic threat stamped out, he backed himself against any man from 2070, and Meakin needed to answer for the deaths of eleven citizens after his drone strike on the London Eye.

  A cool breeze blew across the estate, carrying the faint buzz of airborne rotorcrafts. He thought their continued presence was a good sign and didn’t blame the cops for wanting to authenticate Helen before taking orders.

  He wasn’t dropping his guard, though. The Lynch mob’s reputation on the streets countered the notion of a straightforward leadership transition. The ones near Clifton Hall had witnessed Lynch’s respect for them, though he doubted they formed part of the doctor’s trusted hardcore.

  The buggy hummed to within two-hundred meters of a tall brick wall surrounding the Victorian-style house. Shafts of light radiated from its top two windows and smoke puffed from its chimney, which he found odd for the middle of summer. He drove behind a copse at the side of the track, slammed on the brakes, and switched off the engine.

  Claudia hinted at something sinister occurring at the property, and the goon in the dining room mentioned Meakin had two guests. It didn’t take a genius to align both pieces of information and come to the conclusion that he used it as a black site for off-the-record activities.

  Luke slipped a fresh magazine into his rifle, checked the change lever on his pistol remained on the stun setting, and he crept across the gra
ss expecting to tackle three enemies until visual evidence proved otherwise.

  A quiet monotonous thump echoed from the rear of the house. He stayed close the wall, rounded its perimeter, and the volume increased as he advanced to where a road cut through a gap. He crouched by a brick gate pillar and aimed inside the property.

  Artificial light glowed around the edge of a garage’s retractable door. Music boomed from the inside; up close he recognized it as the type of techno-crap that made his ears bleed. A bulky Segway, the same as the one Lynch used at the PCC, stood in front of the building on a long driveway with a jacket dangling from the left handlebar.

  Luke crept to the front of the house and peered inside a window. Logs burned in an open fireplace, explaining the smoke, and somebody had balanced the ends of two iron pokers in the center or the hearth. He moved back to the driveway and approached the Segway.

  Before reaching the vehicle, he detected the odor of sugar-infused turpentine, confirming Meakin owned the clothing. Luke had first inhaled the unforgettable aftershave after waking at the facility, and it was a worse experience than standing on an upturned plug while wearing a sock. He frisked the jacket and found a smart-strap in the breast pocket. 15 missed calls – 20 unread messages scrolled across the front of a StarComm screensaver.

  A high-pitched scream rose over the music.

  The garage had no windows on the near side. He darted across to the far side and discovered the same thing. The only way in was through the front, but he carried two weapons and at least had the element of surprise.

  Luke twisted the handle, flipped up the door, and it rumbled open. He immediately put the back of Meakin’s head in his sights. The head of security had his shirt sleeves rolled up and held a pair of bolt cutters. Further into the garage, Maria and Lucy sat on chairs, arms restrained behind their backs, and the latter had multiple cuts on her arm and a swelling above her right eye. Both gave him a wild-eyed stare.

  Meakin didn’t turn, and his body language suggested the door opening came as no surprise. He reached for a table, pressed his finger against a silver cube, and the music cut. “Which one do you want, Gideon?”

  “On your knees, you piece of shit,” Luke said.

  Meakin’s posture stiffened. He slowly spun to face the door; flecks of blood stained the front of his shirt.

  “Shoot him,” Lucy shouted.

  Anger flared inside Luke, and for a split-second, everything told him to go against the advice he had given Helen and execute Meakin on the spot. He took a couple of deep breaths to compose himself.

  “Why don’t we sort this out man-to-man?” Meakin asked. “A fight with no weapons. Winner takes all.”

  “No thanks.” Luke let his rifle drop by his side, drew his pistol, and fired.

  A red projectile smacked into Meakin’s chest, and his shoulders kicked forward. He staggered toward Luke, reached out a shaking hand, and collapsed by his boots. For a brief moment, he thrashed on the ground and growled through clenched teeth until he contracted into a fetal position and his voice reduced to a whimper.

  Luke knelt by his quivering body and held the strap in front of his face. “Was playing a medieval torturer worth missing fifteen calls, twenty messages, and our attack? We've captured Lynch, and you've lost. This is how I sort things out man-to-man.”

  Meakin mumbled an incoherent response.

  “Luke,” Maria said. “I knew you’d come.”

  Her voice had a soothing effect on him, part of his internal rage subsided, and he dropped the idea of booting the stricken head of security in the ribs. He unclipped a bunch of keys off Meakin’s belt, circled Maria’s chair while visually searching her body for injuries, and released a padlock and her cuffs.

  Maria sprung up and flung arms around his shoulders. She pulled him closer, and her heart thumped against his chest. Luke returned her embrace and the magnitude of the last twenty-four hours washed over him. He let out a deep breath, momentarily relaxed, and for the first time in years, he found comfort in the arms of another.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine; honestly.”

  “Guys,” Lucy said. “There’s someone else here.”

  “Sorry.” Luke moved to the back of her chair, released her restraints, and looked down at three thin slices on her forearm. “What did he did he do to you?”

  “Used a razor blade and salt on my arm, punched me for answering back, and tightened pliers around our fingers. I’ll survive; the important thing is you showed up.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you stopping in the tunnel. If everything goes according to plan, you’ll have your boyfriend back.”

  Maria stared down at Meakin with hatred in her eyes. “He said he was heating pokers and would brand us as his bitches.”

  “He wasn’t lying,” Luke said. “Feel free to kick him where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  “I wouldn’t waste my energy on a toad like him. Is it over?”

  “We captured Lynch and Helen’s in the process of taking charge. When do stun rounds wear off?”

  “He’ll be a sack of potatoes for at least four hours.”

  Lucy eyed the tools spread across the table. “Mind if I make a start on putting things right?”

  Under these circumstances, Luke was in no position to pass a moral judgment on her request for personal justice, especially as he didn't trust the big five corporations controlling the law of the land. Timetronic had abducted her boyfriend, Meakin had tortured her, and crucially, he was also responsible for multiple murders.

  “Knock yourself out,” he said. “Will he feel it?”

  “On certain parts of his body, and I'll be nice and slow.”

  “When you’re done, use his Segway, follow the track for a mile, and look for a red flashing light. We’ll be in a barn below it.”

  “You’re not staying to watch?” Lucy asked.

  “It doesn’t float my boat. I’ll be back to pick him up later.”

  Luke wrapped his arm around Maria and escorted her out of the garage. As they passed between the gate posts and headed out of the property, Lucy bellowed an insult. He continued forward without looking back, and with the estate finally secured, he concentrated on the next phase of the plan: cementing Helen as the new president of Timetronic.

  Luke punched the buggy's accelerator; it shot forward, and Maria bounced against the padded leather seat. He guessed the abrupt movement surprised her after years of smoothly traveling around in pods, and he gently squeezed her shoulder.

  She cracked a thin smile and gripped the chrome side rail. “I never meant for any of this. Lynch fooled me.”

  “No need to say it; he fooled millions. You’re looking at a man who was drugged and spent fifty years in a transport system.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “It’s a long story for another day. At the moment we’ve other concerns.”

  “What like? I mean, we can’t just return to London, can we?”

  “If Helen doesn’t meet resistance, we’ll head to the facility in a few hours and release every patient who can’t be identified. I’ll need to lean on your expertise.”

  “It’s relatively straightforward.”

  “Maybe for you. How long does an unplug take?”

  “Reintegration therapy usually starts two days before but isn’t essential. I reckon we’ll fill all forty recovery rooms in an hour if we have the available staff.”

  “That’s enough for starters.”

  Luke kept the buggy at a steady speed, and they powered up a shallow incline toward the crest of a hill. Maria massaged pink marks on her wrists as she stared across the gloomy parkland; he wondered if she enjoyed the vast space as well as her freedom after spending years inside a dense urban pool.

  They reached a plateau at the top, crossed to the other side, and the barn’s red flashing beacon came into view; less than a minute’s drive away and still in the same quiet state as when he had left twenty minutes earl
ier.

  Thumps echoed overhead, growing louder by the second, and a light flashed in Luke’s peripheral vision. He tensed and looked skyward. A rotorcraft swept over the estate at low-level, heading directly for the barn.

  “Hold on,” he said and thrust down the accelerator.

  “Who is it?”

  “Cops from Birmingham. They know we’re here, but I don't like it.”

  The buggy’s motor increased to a high whine, and it picked up speed down a gentle slope. The craft pounded the over woodland, thrashing the canopy beneath its rotor wash, and descended close to the front entrance of the barn. The flashing taillight reflected off the mirrored windows at the side of the building, and its skids jolted against the grass.

  Luke realized Helen had probably spoken to pilot but there was no way of knowing the outcome of the conversation; after making it this far, he wasn’t taking chances. He hit the brakes at the bottom of the slope, and the buggy skidded to a halt within comfortable rifle range of the craft. “Wait here,” he said.

  “No way; not after what I’ve been through.”

  “It’s safer if you stay—”

  Maria reached for his thigh holster and ripped out the pistol. “You don’t get to take all the risks. Not when we’re both fighting for our future.”

  “Fair enough,” Luke said, impressed by her conviction and knowing they didn’t have time to debate the matter. “Keep close and follow me.”

  They darted between trees, circled to the front of the building, and crouched on either side of the thick trunk with a clear view of the craft’s side door.

  The twin rotors spun to a standstill and relaxed. An internal light brightened the cockpit, revealing a single pilot belted into her seat. Luke waited, unsure about how it would play out with the remaining rotorcraft continuing to circle the estate.

  Maria held the pistol forward in a two-handed grip. She acted nothing like the woman he had originally met at the facility’s rotorport—it seemed he wasn’t the only person changed by recent events.

  Another engine roared from the direction of the hall, with a rough grunt more in tune with Luke’s former life.