Information Cloud: Science fiction and fantasy series (Tales of Cinnamon City Book 1)

by Peter James West

  + + +

  'Fuck you,' Nick said, holding his impact pistol steady. His vision had almost cleared. He could still see orange smudges mingled in amongst the everyday shapes of the door frame, a table and row of cabinets, but his focus was better now. He felt confident that if he had to move, he could at least avoid running straight into a wall.

  'Oh, Nick. You haven't worked this out at all, have you? We knew you were coming to Havers Compound.'

  'Half the Orange Zone knew that, thanks to that asshole with the news droids.'

  Roy laughed, a faint wheeze in the back of his throat that could have been mistaken for asthma. 'Mekinet News only broadcast the information we gave them, Nick. We knew you were coming long before those droids arrived. Did you think the Council Of Lords really controls everything around here? They think they do, Nick. They think they can rule forever, but their time will come.'

  'Yours won't.' Nick was losing interest. It was clear that the guy in the corridor had a need to get some things off his chest but Nick didn't have a need to listen to him. Instead, he looked around the room in search of escape routes. There were no other doors, no windows, and no hatches in the ceiling. There were no ventilation shafts or trap doors, and no thin adjoining walls that he could break through. There was only one way out, and that was the way that he had come in. Nick cursed himself for choosing the most shit place ever to hide.

  'Gail Thompson called us before she called you, Nick.'

  What was Roy talking about? He must have banged his head on a bulkhead or something. Nick gave up on his search for an alternative exit. It looked as though he only had two choices. He could stay where he was and be bored to death until the idiots outside decided to come in and kill him, or he could try get past them. Neither option looked good. He only had four shots left in his impact pistol.

  Checking his pockets, he found a plasma grenade, but that was no use right now. A plasma grenade would destroy half of the corridor, and the other half would fall on his own head. It was far too destructive to use in such a confined space. Other than that, he had no weapons at all. He hadn't expected the battle to go on for so long. He had made too many mistakes today. If he was really lucky, he might live long enough to hear Rachel tell him what a stupid fool he had been. Right now, that was the best case scenario. The other scenarios didn't look so rosy at all.

  Nick wondered where Rachel was now. He hoped that she was safe. If the satellite-grid controller was here, at least it meant Riser Trent didn't have it. Maybe the people of Cinnamon City would be safe for a little while longer. Nick didn't know if he was going to make it out of this one. He looked again at his impact pistol, realising what he had to do.

  No Way Out

  Fredericks lay on the hard stone floor, his woolly thoughts bouncing around inside his head like drunken sheep. He could hear voices behind him but he didn't know what they were saying. Words mingled together until everything sounded foreign to him - even his own thoughts. His mouth was so dry. He couldn't escape the bitter metallic taste of his own blood. He lay there for a long time, not wanting to open his eyes, just hoping the gnawing pain would go away.

  He wasn't sure how long he had been lying on the floor. His cheek felt numb against the cold stone and his arm ached from lying on it for too long. After a while, his thoughts cleared and he heard the voices once more. One of them sounded like Nick Chambers.

  Fredericks opened his eyes, wincing in pain as bright light burned his retinas. It would be a long time before pain-free vision returned. He was beginning to realise that the effects of the blinding bomb might never wear off. He had to be patient and ignore the pain as best he could.

  Tears welled in his eyes as he waited for them to adjust to the light. It felt like an eternity before his vision improved enough to make out shadows on the ground. Two men were standing in the corridor, their faces little more than jumbled collage of light and shadow. Fredericks stared with confusion. No, he was looking at the backs of their heads as they faced away from him. One of them was speaking in a deep voice that he didn't recognise.

  Beyond the two men in the corridor, he could just make out another man slumped against a wall in the room opposite. Fredericks hoped it wasn't a Kamari agent. The man was aiming an impact pistol towards the doorway, and the men in the corridor were standing out of the line of fire. They couldn't all be Kamari agents. Fredericks wondered which one of them was Nick. He remembered hearing his voice earlier.

  The tallest man in the corridor said, 'What do you hope to achieve sitting in there, Nick? You'll have to come out eventually. There's nowhere else for you to go. Maybe, if you cooperate, we might be able to cut you a deal.'

  So, it was Nick in the other room. Fredericks tried to concentrate on their words. He could feel his life draining away. He wasn't too sure what had happened in the minutes before he had lost consciousness. Much of his memory was either scrambled or lost, but it was clear to him that he had been badly injured. He could feel blood seeping out of his ass. That was never a good sign. He had pain in his chest too, a little too insistent, and a little too tight. He knew his time was short. Sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to trickle into his eyes but he couldn't wipe it away. It couldn't alert them to his presence. So far they had ignored him. Perhaps they thought he was dead?

  Fredericks slipped one hand into his jacket pocket, making sure that his movements were slow so they wouldn't seen. He clenched the blast grenade in his fist, pulling the pin free with numb fingers. He held the detonator closed to give himself time to think.

  He knew he wasn't going to walk out of here alive. There was nobody here to help him and his injuries were too severe for him to last more than a few hours at most. He was going to die one way or another. It made him feel angry inside. He hadn't finished living but all his choices had been taken away. The only thing he could do was to take these two bastards with him. It wouldn't save his own life but it might help Nick. Tears formed in his eyes. He knew that he had to do. If only he could warn Nick somehow, without warning the others. All he could do was stare at him and hope that he would notice.

  + + +

  Roy wasn't finished yet. 'How much does she pay you, Nick? The Security Forces' budget isn't much is it? Maybe it will increase after today's debacle, but you'll never get rich working for them.'

  Nick leant forwards, shuffling onto the balls of his feet. There were no good options left. He was going to have to do something, and whatever it was, he realised there was a good chance that he might end up dead at the end of it. Tightening his grip on his impact pistol, he tried to slow his rapid breathing and slow his racing heartbeat.

  Something caught his eye in the room on the other side of the corridor. Had Fredericks moved just now? A few moments ago, he had been lying on his arm, but now that same arm was stretched out in front of him. His eyes were open too. Why hadn't Nick noticed any of this before? Maybe Fredericks wasn't dead after all? How long had he been conscious? How long had he been staring like that?

  Straining to focus, Nick noticed something shiny in Frederick's hand. Fredericks nodded towards it with a half smile, and when he opened his fingers, Nick saw that he was holding a plasma grenade in the palm of his hand. There was no pin in it. Oh, dear God.

  'We could use a man like you,' Roy said. 'We could train you to be faster, harder and more adept. Working for the Kamari, you could —'

  Nick leapt away from the door, placing the wall between himself and Fredericks. He hoped it wasn't really a plasma grenade, or the wall might not be enough to stop it. Sliding behind a heavy table, Nick closed his eyes and held his hands over his ears.

  + + +

  Isor turned his head, hearing movement in the storage room. He stepped forwards, bracing himself for combat. Roy heard the noise too. He leant back against the wall and pulled out his impact pistol.

  An explosion shook the corridor, throwing chunks of masonry in all directions. Isor was standing closest to the blast. He was thrown against the opposite wall o
f the corridor, his bones shattering like glass. Roy was thrown off his feet too. His arms whirled through the air, trying to grab hold of something until his flight was cut short by a section of metal shelving. He crashed into it and knocked it clattering to the floor. Rubble fell around him and dust trailed down from the ceiling above.

  Isor let out a long, slow gasp as blood bubbled from his open mouth. He tried to speak but could do nothing more than gurgle. His hand shook as he reached towards his father's unmoving body but his fingers grasped nothing but a fallen rock. His eyes lost focus before closing for the final time.

  + + +

  Nick waited as a high-pitched ringing filled his ears. When he was sure the ringing was the only sound he could hear, he turned towards what had once been the doorway, pointing his impact pistol at the corridor beyond. The door frame wasn't there anymore. The room opened directly onto the corridor and a chunks of masonry hung from tangled wire sticking out of the ceiling.

  Climbing to his feet, Nick limped across the room. His heart was working double beat as he craned his neck to see what was happening in the corridor outside. The walls were splattered with blood and dirt. The air was thick with falling dust. Nick covered his mouth with one hand as he stepped carefully into the debris-strewn corridor, holding his impact pistol in front of him.

  His vision had almost cleared now. He could see two men lying on the ground up ahead, their bodies half buried under metal girders and chunks of rough masonry. He had no intention of waiting around to check on their health.

  Nick felt as though some miracle had given him a second chance at life, and in a way it had. Turning to see what had happened to Fredericks, he saw nothing but a shoulder-height pile of rubble. Fredericks had given his life so Nick could live again. Nick hadn't known him that well, but he would be forever thankful for what the man had done for him. He hadn't expected to get out of this one. He intended to make the most of his second chance.

  Breaking into a jog, Nick passed the fallen men, stretching his legs as he headed for the heavy steel doors at the end of the corridor. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the ruined corridor as possible before anyone came to investigate.

  Silent Steps

  Rachel descended the endless stone stairs with her torch held out in front of her. She worried about using the light. What if Trent saw her coming? But if she tried walking down the stairs in the dark, there was a good chance she would fall and break her neck. Using the torch, she would at least reach the lower basement levels intact. Maybe she would turn off the light when she got closer to the Trent's mysterious subterranean office.

  She had been walking for a while when she realised that she hadn't heard Raisson's footsteps at all. She turned and was surprised to find him right behind her. The smile he offered was slightly unsettling.

  'I didn't hear your steps,' she said. 'I thought I had lost you.'

  'No, I'm here. You said I should be quiet.'

  Rachel glanced down at his shoes. They were shiny black executive's shoes, the kind that clatter along the floor as you walk, but Raisson's shoes didn't make any sound at all. 'Your shoes are very quiet,' she said.

  'Soft soles,' Raisson said. 'I have problems with my arches.'

  'Your what?'

  'The arches of my feet hurt if I wear normal office shoes. These are custom made. A friend of my uncle made them for me. They're very comfortable.'

  Rachel nodded. Something about him gave her the creeps. Pushing him from her mind, she turned her attention back to the endless stairs below. Her torch was so hopeless. It didn't even have enough power to illuminate the next landing.

  Rachel continued her descent for what seemed like an eternity. Her legs were aching, and her thoughts had been wandering for a long time. She couldn't remember how long it had been since Raisson had last spoken. It was true that she had asked him to be quiet, but his constant silence unsettled her. He claimed that his shoes had been specially made to be more comfortable, but she still couldn't understand why they made no sound at all. His suit didn't even rustle. When she thought about it, she couldn't remember hearing him take a single breath. She could hear her own breathing. The stairs were hard work, even on the way down. She definitely wasn't looking forwards to going back up.

  'Why are you so damned quiet?' Rachel said.

  When she turned, something hit her in the ribs, sending a jolt of pain all through her body. She clamped her teeth shut as her muscles went into spasm. Before she could work out what was happening, she toppled sideways, landing heavily on the hard stone steps. Her arms didn't work anymore. She couldn't protect herself from the fall. She rolled down the stairs, tumbling over and over until she smacked her head on the landing below. Rachel gasped as the world spun before her eyes.

  At the top of the stairs, Raisson stood watching her - a shadow in the darkness. He took a torch from his own pocket and turned it on. He hadn't mentioned having a torch before. Rachel had dropped her torch when she fell. She could still hear it bouncing down the stairs below.

  Raisson descended towards her with silent, fluid movements. His eyes sparkled, and he flashed his white teeth in a wild smile. Suddenly he seemed a lot less friendly than before. When he stepped onto the lower landing, he reached down and pulled something from Rachel's ribs. Pain tore at her skin and a fresh groan escaped her lips. He held the Taser dart in front of her, cleaning it with a small white cloth. When the dart was clean, he nodded to himself and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  Rachel tried to move her arms but they didn't respond. Her legs were limp too. She wondered how long it would be before the effects of the Taser dart wore off. When she spoke, her lips were slow to respond and her words sounded slurred. 'Wwwwhy?' she said.

  'Oh, Rachel. You silly girl. Didn't your father ever tell you never to trust a stranger? Here I am, standing in the dark - a man you have never met before - and you accept me in no time at all. Such an amateur! What happened to your Security Forces training? I admit that I am attractive, very charming and extremely likeable, but really, you should know better. Why did you think I was hiding behind a wall if I was just a businessman? I was waiting for you, Rachel. I'm very disappointed.'

  'You'rrre Trennnt,' Rachel said.

  Raisson laughed. 'Trent? Oh I think not. He wouldn't know a good suit from a diaper.'

  'Who then?'

  'Save your strength. You sound like a drunk. I told you my name already, and that's all I will tell you.'

  Rachel struggled to move her toes inside her boots. They wiggled at her command, but so slowly that it offered little hope. Her journey down the stairs had been a long and painful one. Bruises stung her elbows and knees, and her head felt heavy. Was that blood she could feel trickling out of her ear? She wasn't in a very good state. She knew she would have to play for time until she could regain more movement if she was to have any hope of escape. She couldn't afford to panic. Her lips felt numb as though she had just been to the dentist. It was difficult to force the words out of her mouth, but she had to keep him talking for as long as possible.

  'Wha... do ya wan?'

  Raisson smiled down at her. 'What do I want? I want a new shuttle car. I want a bigger apartment. Another million credits wouldn't hurt. I'm just a regular guy, like everyone else. I'm just in a different line of business.' He chuckled at his own joke and reached into his breast pocket.

  'What... busine...?'

  'I'm in waste disposal.'

  Rachel dragged her leg backwards a few centimetres. It was hard work, and the range of movement was so very small, but it gave her some small encouragement. She lay still as she watched Raisson pull a small flat case from his breast pocket. When he opened it, she noticed several glass tubes inside it. Was that white powder inside the tubes? Raisson lifted one of them out, holding it in the same hand as his torch. He slipped the case into his back pocket with his free hand, and then held the tube out in front of her.

  'Do you know what this is, Rachel? I think you'll like it a l
ot. Most people do.' Popping the cap from the end of the tube, he leant forwards, holding it over her head. With a wink, he tipped the tube towards her.

  Rachel tried to pull away, but she could only slide a few centimetres across the floor. She had no feeling in her muscles at all. Her eyes watched as the dry white powder tumbled along the inside of the glass tube, falling towards her face. There was only one thing she could do, so she did it. She blew as hard as she could. The white powder puffed back towards Raisson, covering the front of his trousers.

  Raisson stared at the white patch covering his crotch before making a high-pitched whining noise in the back of his throat. He slapped at his trousers with his free hand, trying to scrub the powder away.

  Rachel braced herself, focussing all her efforts on trying to swing her leg. It was so numb. She couldn't get any force into the kick at all, but she managed to swing her boot into the side of his knee. It didn't hurt him, but it caught him at an awkward angle, knocking him off balance. He fell onto his backside, cracking the case in his pocket with a loud crunch. His eyes opened wide when he realised the glass tubes had shattered beneath him.

  'No! No!' Raisson jumped back to his feet, slapping the front and back of his trousers with one hand. He tried to unfasten his belt with the other, but bright white flames erupted across the palms of his hands, spreading quickly up his forearms. The skin blistered immediately, turning from peach to black, and then red and white as the layers bubbled and popped under the intense heat. Raisson cried out, slapping his ruined hands against his legs, but the flames kept spreading.

  Rachel could feel the unnatural levels of heat emanating from the bright white flames that covered him. The whole landing felt suddenly warm, and the light from the flames was bright enough to hurt her eyes. She pulled away from him, dragging herself slowly across the floor.