Point Apocalypse

by Alex Bobl

  Alex Bobl

  Point Apocalypse

  a novel

  Alex Bobl

  Point Apocalypse

  Published by Sky Bridge Publishers, 2013

  Copyright © Alex Bobl 2013

  Cover Art © Vladimir Manyukhin 2013

  English translation copyright © Irene Woodhead 2013

  Editor: Neil P. Mayhew

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

  Also by Alex Bobl:

  Memoria. A Corporation of Lies

  (an Action-Packed Techno Thriller)

  "Hardcore action from start to finish"

  " A well polished gritty dystopian novel"

  "Interesting, spooky, intense"

  "Reminds me of Blade Runner"

  Table of Contents:

  Part 1. Prison World

  Chapter One. The Jumpgate

  Chapter Two. The Ferry Boat

  Chapter Three. Questions

  Chapter Four. The Raiders

  Chapter Five. The Trigger Code

  Chapter Six. New Identity

  Chapter Seven. Comrades in Misery

  Chapter Eight. King of the Forest

  Part Two. Mind Games

  Chapter One. The River

  Chapter Two. God Loves the Infantry

  Chapter Three. Jim

  Chapter Four. Walking Around the Devil's Barn

  Chapter Five. Long Time No See

  Chapter Six. Metropolis

  Chapter Seven. The Tables Turn

  Part Three. The New Level

  Chapter One. The Dream Is One Step Away

  Chapter Two. No Way Out

  Chapter Three. An Important Link

  Chapter Four. As the Crow Flies

  Chapter Five. Point Apocalypse

  Also by Alex Bobl

  About the Author

  Part 1

  Prison World

  Chapter One

  The Jumpgate

  Darkness. Light. Hundreds of bare feet slapping the tiled floor around me. Pitch dark again. Blinding light - I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment but kept moving amid the naked figures. Cold water jets pelted us from the walls; people yelped, someone slipped and fell flat on the floor.

  "No huddling together! Keep moving!" the invisible loudspeakers barked in Russian. "Form columns! Line up, I said!"

  The controller just had to be new. Trying too hard, the idiot. I'd love to know who'd authorized his access.

  The stench of bleach hit my nose.

  "Move it!" the voice hollered. "Don't stop, keep walking! Listen and obey orders!"

  They dimmed the light. Strings of lamps flickered and blinked under the ceiling. Someone cussed to my right. The guy in front of me jerked back and somebody else pushed him onto me. I fended him off with my elbow, hitting his shoulder. More swearing drowned out the jets' hissing.

  "Everyone shut up!" the speakers barked. "The culprits will-"

  The speakers crackled and screeched. The lights flickered and went out. The shower stopped, too. For a few seconds, the crowd continued in the dark, their bare feet slapping on the tiles.

  "Serves him right, the asshole," said a voice behind me.

  I didn't know whether he meant the controller who'd loudspeakered us around or whoever had tried to start the fight.

  "Hey, what is it?" a voice said. "I'm afraid of the dark."

  "Get your filthy hands off me!" another voice demanded. "And keep 'em to yourself!"

  "You better watch yours!"

  "You what?"

  What followed sounded like a slap in someone's face and a suppressed yell followed by a struggle. Far behind my back, I heard more angry voices. I raised my fists, pressed my elbows to my sides and lowered my head. The tribunal had decided to have my acceleratory implants removed so it was time I learned to make do without them. As long as they didn't knock me off my feet, I had a fair chance of fighting them off provided I had enough space.

  The crowd poured toward the walls like overflowing jelly. I kept walking, all the while sensing there was no one left in front of me. The speakers were dead. The corridor filled with noises and voices.

  When was the controller going to switch to the auxiliary power? There had to be a good hundred people at the jumpgate. What were they waiting for? If they didn't do it soon, people could panic causing a stampede. And I couldn't hurry the things up for fear of triggering it.

  I threw my arm to one side and swiped a face whispering, "Out of my way!" I was about to add a kick but reconsidered: I might miss and fall flat on the tiles.

  The glow of lamps snaking down the corridor imprinted themselves on my retinas. I kept walking, slowly. Now I had no one left at my sides, either - only some wheezing at a safe distance behind me.

  Then the lights went back on. The water jets hit the crowd with a hum and sent people flying to the center of the corridor. I jumped over a slumped figure and escaped someone's crooked fingers digging into my shoulder. A burly man with a beard raised his fist and stepped in my way. I thumped his solar plexus.

  The shower stopped.

  "Everybody freeze!" the speakers howled. "Stay where you are!"

  I lowered my hands and glanced over my shoulder. Behind me, two Asians stopped in their tracks back-to-back. Could be Chinese, or... you could never tell. They all looked the same to me. Could be clones for all I knew.

  "Form three ranks," this was a different Russian voice, cold and emotionless. Apparently, a more experienced officer had replaced the hollering greenhorn. "In ten seconds I'll turn on the shower. Those failing to comply will be eliminated. Ten, nine..."

  He wasn't joking. We were at the Fort Commander's complete mercy. They could kill us whenever they pleased, then dump our bodies from the cliffs into the ocean to save the energy costs on the return transfer. His threat worked: we were still convicts with fewer rights than slaves, so people started getting back onto their feet and falling in. The bearded guy I'd knocked down grunted and tried to prop himself up with his elbows but failed. He pushed with his forehead against the floor.

  "Seven, six..." the speakers kept on.

  I grabbed the man's elbow and jerked him upright.

  "Four, three... Leave the corridor once the disinfection is complete. Wait for orders to enter the airlock then proceed to the mind check. Start moving from your right, in single file."

  The bearded man doubled up with his hand pressed to his stomach and teetered. I squeezed his elbow making sure he didn't collapse under the water jet.

  "The shower's on - now."

  I raised my face to the ceiling and closed my eyes. The cold torrent stank of chemicals as it lashed against my body.

  The first cleaning cycle was followed by thirty seconds of warm disinfecting foam. They turned it off and then put the water back on, the pressure slightly less this time. Having washed off the foam, the drying systems kicked in, turning the air in the corridor as hot as a sauna. The sterilization lamps on the ceiling lit up, and I held my breath watching the red light flicker over the exit.

  I ended up in the right column with only two men in front of me. That was good. I'd be through with the mind check quick enough.

  A siren wailed announcing the end of the disinfection. The red light over the exit went out and the
main lights came back on. At the end of the corridor, a steel door whirred as it sunk into the wall exposing the airlock.

  The men stirred, their voices low.

  "By the right, in single file!" the speakers spewed.

  A tall old man happened to be the first by the airlock door. He started for it, stopped and gave a cautious look over his shoulder.

  "By the right, in single file, toward the door, forward march!" repeated the voice from the ceiling.

  "Get on with it, granddad," a square man from the second rank nudged. "Don't hold everybody up."

  His bulging back and arm muscles were pockmarked with what looked like bullet holes, skin tight and wrinkled around them. Only these were no bullet wounds. They'd removed enhancing implants from his shoulder muscles. The modified man must have been a heavy laborer - most likely a pit worker at one of the Arctic mines. The mines and the Army - two places you had no business to be in Russia without muscle enhancers.

  "Next," the voice echoed down the corridor once the first convict had cleared the airlock.

  The miner stepped into the opening, swaying. Judging by his lack of coordination, he must have suffered the removal surgery pretty recently. I could see he hadn't adjusted to it yet. I knew by myself the first few days were the hardest.

  "Next."

  As I crossed the airlock, my head span around. My spine and shoulder blades started prickling in places where I'd once had my combat modules installed. The invisible rays of electromagnetic detectors searched every inch of my body, then switched off. The prickling ceased. I walked past the guardhouse to my left behind a one-way mirror and stepped into a narrow portal facing the door to the mind check room where the miner had just entered.

  "Nex-" the controller didn't finish the word.

  An alarm wailed. I stepped aside and looked back. The Asian who'd followed me still had a few more paces to clear the airlock. He ran, then stumbled, dropping to his knees and grasping at his blackened chest. His mouth opened, his screams inaudible above the howling of the alarm, fire and blood splattering through a hole in his chest.

  The controller blocked the camera and turned off the alarm. For a few seconds, I stood still by the closed door. Then I shook my head and squatted down.

  The jumpgate seemed to be rife with emergency situations. Something was going on. First the power failure in the disinfection corridor, then they'd replaced the controller, and now this Asian with his implant...

  I tried to second-guess the actions of the duty officers. Handling this kind of emergency couldn't take more than a couple of minutes at a top security facility like this one. They'd now remove the body, make a radio announcement and resume the scan.

  The dead man had to be Chinese, by the looks of it. They just couldn't help pushing their luck. Their wetware people were still beyond competition; so apparently, they had fixed their man with a micro container housing the implant. They must have delivered it to the carrier after the trial but before his transfer to the Fort. It looked as if they wanted to try and see if they could get a modified man through to Pangea.

  Again, I shook my head. Impossible. Once the judgment was made, they removed all neuromodules and stimulators while still on Earth. After convicts were convoyed to the Kola Peninsula, they were checked again - and for all I knew, their medical staff were quite unpurchasable.

  I reached behind my back and scratched a hollow under my shoulder blade where a somatic module used to sit. Those thingies could affect the work of the endocrine glands ejecting hormones like adrenaline. I propped my elbows on my knees, my hands hanging down, and looked up at the ceiling. Almost immediately, I glimpsed the black button of a camera between two of the lamps.

  It looked as if the Chinese had had his implant installed right before being shipped here. But how? This wasn't as easy as inserting a night-vision lens! This was proper surgery affecting the whole body. All right, imagine they'd done it somehow, but how on earth had they expected the implanted Asian to pass the three-level safety system? The Fort was notorious for its multiple checks. Every room on the base had infrared cameras in it; the airlock was jam-packed with sensors, plus the ultrasound scanner in the portal. I reached again and scratched my back. It itched like hell. They must have put the scanner on full.

  I heard voices in the mind check block. The door slid sideways into its frame. I stood up, clasped my hands behind my back and turned to the wall.

  "Center," a voice said behind my back, "There's a convict in the portal."

  "As if I can't see," the speaker answered overhead. "Put him through."

  "Isn't it better he cleans up in the airlock first? Saves us the troub-"

  "Put him through," the controller snapped.

  I chuckled. So much for me mopping it up for them.

  They yanked my shoulder to make me face the door.

  "Quit sneering, you piece of-!" the guard snarled pointing his pulse rifle at my chest.

  He was in full gear. A composite vest hugged his torso above his protection suit, its square plates concealing his shoulders. Elbow guards and gloves protected his arms. High carbon fiber boots and a tactical helmet with a mirrored anti-laser visor completed the look.

  "Move it!"

  The condenser on the end of its barrel swayed pointing at the doorway into the block. It breathed with cold.

  I walked through.

  "Attention all," the controller said. "Clearance emergency situation. Penetration attempt."

  Electric drives buzzed behind my back. The door closed, clanging its magnetic locks. The voice in the loudspeakers distanced, barely heard now, and then stopped altogether.

  The mind check block looked a bit like an upended tumbler with its black matt walls of unknown mineral. I stepped into the middle and said out loud,

  "Mark Posner. Convicted of the murder of a Federal Security agent. Proven guilty."

  Mind checks are quick and absolutely painless. You don't feel a thing apart from the cold coming from the walls: the procedure calls for low temperatures of about -20F.

  I'd done it a hundred times. In the Army school, then every time I'd moved to a new station, and the last time, before the Tribunal. In other words, every time the situation called for a quick identity check. Never had problems. But today... everything seemed to be going ass backwards.

  They didn't let me out. They didn't open the door. What the hell's going on here? An equipment malfunction? Couldn't be. They'd already restored the power in the corridor. The airlock detectors had caught the implanted Chinese. The communications between the guards and the loudspeakers were working. The doors seemed to be in order. Two of the convicts -the old man and the miner - had already cleared the mind check.

  I shuffled my feet and huddled wishing to be back with those still in the warm disinfection corridor. What took the controller so long? Had he found something fishy with my mind map? But what if-

  Then I realized. I could see the face of the base commander as the controller reported my identity...

  The FSA - Russia's Federal Security Agency - didn't forgive those who murdered their agents. But before, they hadn't had a chance to get to me: I'd been kept in the Army detention center and tried by a military tribunal. The military and the FSA come from different planets as far as their structures and objectives are concerned. And now the Feds had their chance. The jumpgate base was under their jurisdiction. I wouldn't have been surprised if the commander had received special instructions regarding my arrival.

  "Repeat check," resounded overhead. "State your name."

  "Mark Posner."

  "Sentence?'"

  I repeated it fast and clear, like a parade report.

  Another pause. The FSA men were overdoing it. Why repeat a scan if you're about to kill a convict? Why pile up evidence? I wouldn't. The control systems now had two scan results filed in their computers. Someone would have to delete them now.

  My teeth chattered. My shoulders shuddered with the cold.

  "Hello? Center?" I ventur
ed, knowing that the controller wouldn't break instructions by speaking to a convict. "Stop fucking around! I'll freeze to death in here!"

  I was shaking. Clouds of cold mist poured out of my mouth. The FSA men had to be dragging it out on purpose. They had to be trying to freeze me to death by lowering the temperature to -95F, the lowest possible in the block. No messy reports: they'd write me off as a mind check equipment malfunction. One convict frozen to death, no big deal.

  "Hello!" I exhaled.

  My nose stung, my eyes watered. I couldn't control my shaking any more.

  "Hello!" I stepped forward and raised a fist to slam the door. It slid aside. I tumbled out, nearly tripping over myself, and started doing vigorous squats. The miner and the tall old man stared at me, uncomprehending. Both stood by the gate at the end of a long dark concrete corridor waiting to be issued their fatigues and shipped to the Continent.

  After a dozen squats, I hugged my shoulders rubbing the chapped skin.

  "I say," the miner started, "What the hell happened in there?"

  I didn't answer. I had no wish to speak to him. The miner and the old man exchanged glances. Both had already put on their pale synthetic clothes and light plastic shoes.

  The rags were disposable crap, you had to give them that. Instant-made as you waited, they lasted no longer than condoms. While a convict cleared the airlock, the scanners took his measurements and sent them to a thermoplastic machine next door. As the convict left the mind check, he received a perfectly useless set of fatigues: in less than a week, the fabric would crack and shred under Pangea's scorching sun, and the shoes would fall apart.

  The miner turned his stare to me. "How long are they going to keep us in here, d'you know?"