Boundary (Field Book 3)

by Simon Winstanley

  It was a metathene injector case.

  Why Alfred Barnes would need metathene was an unknown. He was certainly bright, even manipulative, but he was definitely no ego-morph. Her time in the company of Miles Benton was testament to that. Miles’ mental processes had always demonstrated a distinct order. Like her, Miles even had techniques for re-processing memories.

  Her thoughts suddenly faltered.

  It was she that had similar techniques to the former ego-morph, not the other way around.

  The truth began to dawn on her.

  Alfred had never intended to use the metathene for himself, he had only intended to use it on her. Based on her current evidence, she could only conclude that he’d already succeeded at least once. It certainly appeared that the metathene was triggering a change in her.

  Yet, on some level, she knew it was a change that she didn’t want to resist.

  NIGHTFALL

  13th April 2014

  In the bluish light of the warm early evening, the crystal-clear stars reflected off the surface of the gently rippling lake. The long waves reached the shore as little more than a hushed babble. Bradley reclined on the lounger and took in the view. From this particular spot, he thought it was almost picture perfect. Almost.

  Putting down his ice-cold can of beer on the table next to him, he picked up his control tablet and brightened the stars by ten percent. The stars on the horizon brightened first, followed by the ones further up the vaulted, bowl-like ceiling. Bradley watched as the clusters of LED lights sequentially brightened; the resulting wave of illumination sweeping upwards to the apex of the USV’s dome, where his artificial sun lay dormant. The overall illumination within the vast interior space didn’t change appreciably but it made him feel more in control of his own comfort.

  He was just taking another gulp of beer when the two-way radio crackled on the table next to him.

  “Having fun down there?”

  Smiling to himself he put the beer down and picked up the radio.

  “Gordo,” he laughed, looking up towards the structure at the apex of the USV, “Why don’t you come on down here, an’ snag a beer with me?”

  There was a click of static and Gordon Dowerty replied.

  “Not a good time. Can you come up to the Eye?”

  Bradley puffed out his cheeks and exhaled; it seemed that fewer people were taking him up on the offer of a drink these days. Even Sarah always seemed to have other plans. Bradley clicked the transmit key again.

  “I was just getting started on a perfectly good beer. You really need me right now?”

  “Yeah,” came the reply, “I’m sending the bucket down.”

  As Bradley watched, the aptly named bucket-lift departed from the apex and began to make its way down to the ground, tightly following the curvature of the vaulted interior. The radio crackled again.

  “You can bring your beer if you like.”

  Bradley turned away from the apex, took several gulps from the can then tossed it half-heartedly into the lake. There was always something to ruin the moment, he thought.

  He walked the few yards to his compact electric buggy and climbed in. It reminded him of the golfing buggy he used to own, but inside the USV there was never any rainfall so this model didn’t have a roof. He turned the buggy in a tight circle and headed out along the north-east road, away from the community lake and towards the periphery. Ahead he could see the lift mechanism continuing its descent along the curved track that gripped the interior of the USV’s dome; the suspended passenger ‘bucket’ underneath remaining vertical despite the curvature of descent.

  Hundreds of feet above the USV’s vaulted ceiling, pressure sensors had indicated that Dover was still under water; the result of tsunamis induced by the lunar shard impacts. There had been no communication with the outside world since Britain had sunk beneath the waves. For all he knew, everything up there had gone to hell. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t give a damn; everything his family had ever done to save the world had never been appreciated - he owed that world nothing.

  Even when his father, William, had supported NASA in the initial stages of space exploration, there had been no recognition. When William had poured vast resources into developing the fusion systems now used throughout Archive’s projects, there had been no gratitude; he’d done it to ensure that Bradley was counted among those who would be saved from Siva’s impact.

  Since that time, it seemed that others had always wanted to destroy what his family had worked so hard to build.

  Eva Gray’s actions had resulted in the destruction of not only the Pittman funded FLC, but also the Moon on which it was built. That woman was responsible for everything that had followed; the panic, the angry riots, the inundation of the queueing systems outside his various underground facilities. Her actions had forced him to close those facilities to the public; he couldn’t risk anyone damaging the systems his family had taken so long to prepare.

  He continued his drive along the north-east road, past rows of suburban-looking bungalows; their front lawns were still absent but in places, people had already begun to build fences to mark the boundary of their property.

  “Good evening, Mr. Pittman,” a young boy waved to him.

  Bradley turned on a tight smile for the youngster and raised a hand briefly, before looking ahead again. In the buggy’s wing mirror he saw that the boy’s mother had taken him by the hand and was escorting him back indoors.

  Time and again it was always the same, he’d be the one to finance methods of saving people, but others would want to ruin it. Douglas Walker’s expensive ‘time-bubble’ had been the same. Bradley’s own cash and resources had been dumped, billion after billion, into yet another ‘lifeboat’ scheme. Bradley hadn’t complained, because he was doing it to ensure that Sarah would be counted among the saved. But when the time came, that venture had been ruined too. Before the first lunar shard had even hit, panicking people with no right to be there had gate-crashed the Node’s fences.

  He pulled the buggy over and walked to the base of the bucket-lift. The wall-climbing track was a robust fixture anchored to the rocky wall with fist-sized bolts, but the lift itself was a basic steel-framed box with wire-link sides to prevent passengers from falling out. He pushed the four buttons on the mechanical lock, pulled the door open and within a few seconds the bucket-lift was in ascent.

  The change in perspective prompted him to think again of the final moments outside the Node. He’d been forced to kick the clamouring hands below his helicopter so that he could escape the panicking crowd, but Douglas had managed to escape with Kate towards the Node. Once again, Bradley felt he’d been made to lose.

  However, it seemed that fate was not without a sense of justice; it had delivered Monica Walker, Douglas’ wife, directly into Bradley’s hands.

  During the height of the lunar shard bombardment, Monica Walker had been arrested, along with two others, attempting to breach the USV sealed habitat. He’d placed the three of them in separate holding cells at the detention facility and made them sweat for a few weeks before interrogating each of them.

  Before the first execution, the man had eventually given up the fact that the three of them had entered through the Glaucus Dock area of the USV.

  Glaucus Dock was at roughly the same height as Bradley was now, but on the opposite side of the USV. As the bucket-lift gained height, the circular nature of the village became more apparent. From his position in the northeast, he had a clear view across to the village square and its abstract water feature.

  The older woman who’d gone next had independently confirmed what the man had said; even detailing how they’d all entered through the Glaucus docking ring on the surface and descended through the vertical access shaft to breach the USV below. Despite advice he’d received from his daughter, torture obviously was effective at retrieving information.

  As the bucket-lift approached the apex of its curved journey, more of its motion resulted in a move toward
s the dome’s centre. The perspective shift seemed less like an elevator and more like a hot air balloon, drifting high above a landscape.

  From here, the visible extent of the USV was a patchwork, circular disk. Everything beyond the confines of their miniature, flat world was obscured by darkness.

  ‘Obscura’, the word seemed to enter his head. He remembered it was something that Alfred Barnes had once lectured on about. As long as people couldn’t see beyond their own little world, they were more likely to accept their own circumstances. The unfortunate consequence was that knowledge of an outside world was dangerous to stability.

  For once, he could appreciate Alfred’s thinking.

  Monica and her accomplices had told him they’d entered from an outside world; they were a direct threat to stability, so he’d been left with no choice. Before each public execution, the charges had been carefully phrased to omit all mention of their breaching the USV. The accused were still permitted to publicly refute the claims but he found that a well secured gag eliminated this problem. It also sent the very clear message that, once accused of sedition, your voice could no longer be heard.

  He looked down through the metal mesh flooring and could see that the village square and detention block were almost directly underneath him.

  Inside one of those detention cells was Monica Walker.

  The continual thorn in his side.

  Over the past few months he’d kept her alive and talked to her at almost regular intervals, but not because he’d had a change of heart - her water feature day would still come. The truth was that it gave him a deep, satisfying, vengeful thrill to prolong her anguish and watch her mind burn behind bars. It made every day of his own relative freedom that much sweeter.

  COMPONENTS

  DAY04 : 17FEB2027

  Alfred Barnes was still a little distracted following the incident with the metathene-laced water. A perfectly good dose had been wasted on the fibres of his shirt. In the limited privacy of the Node infirmary office, Dr. Smith was patting at the damp patch with a towel and continuing a conversation about the recent Biomag failure.

  “…no idea that such a small component could cause such a drastic failure. Gail’s lucky to be alive.”

  Alfred forced himself to focus on the present again. Biomag failure was previously unheard of. However, he found himself reasoning that with sufficient numbers in operation, it was inevitable that one should fail by sheer chance.

  “Indeed,” Alfred replied, “We owe Mr. …”

  “Pike?” she prompted.

  “Yes, we owe him a great deal, I really should thank him in person,” Alfred projected a little more self-importance for her benefit. She was nodding and he spotted an opportunity to sow a little more fear, “Hopefully Mr. Pike will be able to confirm if it was a simple capacitor failure.”

  Caroline stopped dabbing at his shirt and frowned, “As opposed to what?”

  Alfred exhaled as though he hadn’t meant to let the thought slip out.

  “Sorry, Caroline. It wasn’t my intention to put the thought in your head.”

  “What thought?” she looked at him earnestly.

  “The thought that there are Exordi Nova aboard who sabotaged it.”

  Caroline’s movements appeared to become more damped and self-conscious. She was obviously hesitant about something, almost seeking his permission to talk about it.

  “Caroline?” he asked as softly as he could, “Is everything alright?”

  She walked away with the towel and emptied the broken glass into a metal recycling container.

  “It’s just that,” Caroline began but then stopped.

  She returned to talk to him but wouldn’t meet his eyes. Clearly this was something to do with trust.

  “It’s OK, Doctor,” he purposefully used her title, allowing her to distance herself from whatever she needed to say.

  “Well, it’s just that after hearing your wise words at the briefing, I thought… I thought I should bring a matter to your attention.”

  “Of course,” Alfred encouraged her.

  “Doctor Patient confidentiality doesn’t apply if I have information concerning the safety of everyone aboard.”

  Alfred displayed a grave-looking nod. Already the tiny seeds of distrust he’d sown were beginning to find their roots.

  “Whatever you tell me,” he said, “will go no further.”

  Caroline appeared to hesitate again, but then looked at him directly.

  “I don’t want you to think that, because I treated him, I am in any way associated with any of his Exordi Nova connections. At the time, I didn’t realise the significance of the marking. I thought it might be a rebellious cry for help, and -”

  “Caroline,” Alfred placed a hand on her arm, “Really, I hold you in too high a regard. I have full confidence that your actions are beyond reproach.”

  She took a deep breath and told him what she knew about Danny Smith, a young man with an Exordi Nova branding mark on his forehead. She relayed the fact that she’d treated and bandaged the wound, all the while making it very clear that she had no association with the individual.

  Years ago, Alfred had based the Exordi Nova’s symbol on a page from a flick-book he’d seen in a document about Douglas Walker. The childish final sketch in the series had been an incomplete circle with a dot in the gap. At the time, he’d found it amusing and ironic that the inventor of the Field should also provide the symbol for Archive’s own puppet terrorist organisation. However, the other Archive members had supported his choice, based on their own interpretations of the symbol.

  The symbol of fear had become almost universally recognised, but he found it hard to believe that an actual Exordi Nova member would be stupid enough to brand themselves in the way indicated by Caroline. However, he knew he could use this situation to his political advantage: The Exordi Nova - personified and aboard the Node.

  For Alfred, Danny Smith was a gift.

  “Thank you,” he looked at her with sincerity, “I know that must have been difficult for you to tell me. I’ll make sure I detail the fact that you were not involved in any way.”

  He stepped a little closer to her and glanced around, unnecessarily.

  “Before the Node launched, the Exordi Nova were becoming bolder in their attacks,” he lied, “this latest development appears to be a continuation of the campaign.”

  “Does that mean -” she began.

  “Please, don’t speak about this to anyone,” he interrupted her in a low tone, “In the fight against their campaign of terror, I’d appreciate it if you could be my eyes and ears?”

  Caroline nodded earnestly.

  “We must not let them win, Caroline.”

  •

  From his position near the central spiral staircase, Danny had a clear view across a bright, open space within the Node. It was one of the few places where the light grey interior floor work was incomplete, permitting views of several curving walkways that ran around the circumference of the Node at different heights.

  On the next level down he could see several people transporting wheeled cases; some walked around the entirety of the visible arc before disappearing beneath ceiling scaffolding, others turned off onto spur corridors that ran from the central zone out towards the perimeter.

  One level up, there was similar unhurried activity, but there were also small groups of people who had stopped to talk; their casual murmured conversation and laughter echoing quietly off the white walls throughout.

  The atmosphere reminded him of a wide, airy shopping mall in the days before Siva had become common knowledge; a time of blissful ignorance, where the only thing he’d had to worry about was how many talk-minutes were left on his phone tariff.

  His mind was just beginning to return to the darker days that had followed, when Cassidy nudged him.

  “You’re not supposed to gawp at stuff, you dick,” she shook her head, “you’re supposed to take it all for granted. Now. We took a different route out
of the infirmary last time, but do you recognise it from this view?”

  Danny looked out across the missing floor area on their level, to the curved wall that lay on the other side.

  “Over there, right?”

  “Yep, so I’ll take you across and get you readmitted,” Cassidy glanced around her, “then, after Doc’ Smith turns off the lights for night shift, you can make your introduction to Walker.”

  “And if she’s not awake,” Danny kept his voice low, “then I put the note in the pocket of any clothes she has -”

  “Which will be in the small locker -”

  “-at the bottom of her bed,” he joined in quietly, “And if they’re not in there?”

  Cassidy tilted her head at him.

  “I thought you said you were good at this sort of stuff?”

  “Yeah, I am,” said Danny, “but back then, I always had somewhere I could run to if it all went wrong. In here, where would I go?”

  “Just don’t overthink it, Danny-boy,” she stared at him with a look she usually reserved for Tyler, “Worst case, just get out, you know? ‘Ooh blimey Doc, I’m feelin’ proper chipper, best be off’ and all that?”

  “I do not talk like that,” he stared back at her but couldn’t quite prevent a smile escaping; the stress of what they were about to attempt was obviously getting to him.

  “Sure you do,” she smiled back, “you just… oh shit!”

  Cassidy quickly turned away from their view. Danny just had time to see Alfred Barnes exiting through the infirmary door, before Cassidy pulled him in the direction of the spiral stairs. When they reached the next floor down, she pushed him into a radial-spur corridor. They continued walking past a slightly confused-looking Tyler, who took a few seconds to catch up with them.

  “Cassy?” he called after them.

  “Change of plan Ty,” said Cassidy, finally slowing to a stop.

  “What happened?” Tyler spoke quietly.

  “It went south faster than a winter goose…” Cassidy rested her back against the corridor wall, “… a goose with a rocket up its ass, that’s what happened.”