From her position on the Glaucus Dock stairwell, Monica had a clear view. The hemisphere of mist had a chaotic, cloud-like, shifting fractal pattern to it; continually folding in on itself, but in a constant state of renewal. Without warning, the ball of lightning disappeared and the surrounding ring resumed its liquid state, collapsing back into the lake and sending a radial tidal wave outward to the shoreline.
The wave would not be fatal to any of those people who were about to be caught in its wake. But the disturbance had created an opportunity, one that Monica knew she must seize before the moment escaped.
Prior to departing the Warren, everyone had dressed as casualties. She’d hoped that in the confusion surrounding the lunar shard impacts, her group would blend in with the USV’s own injured. However, from her high vantage point, the USV appeared to have suffered no major damage at all. She turned to face her own people.
“Listen up.”
The minor murmurings ceased.
“It doesn’t look like there’s been any major collapse down there, so we’re going to revise the plan a little. You’re all still injured, but you’ll have to be creative in your explanations. They’ll be mopping up a tidal wave down there. Use it. Get involved.”
Distant and collective screams reached them, then suddenly the power went out in the quadrant closest to them, plunging their stairwell into darkness. There were a few gasps from those on the stairs, but Monica quickly cut in again.
“This chaos is useful to us, embrace it. It won’t be long before power is restored, let’s take advantage of the lucky break, remember your rendezvous points. Move now!”
Moving silently, the former occupants of the Warren descended into the darkness and shadows below. As before, Monica and Geraldine scouted ahead of the group by one flight of stairs. Assuming all was clear, the group would then descend to meet them.
If ever there was a time to use Woods’ inhaler, Monica thought, she should use it now. The ability to have any sort of mental edge in the minutes ahead would only be an advantage.
“Woods,” she called back up the stairs and beckoned him alone to come down. He covered the distance in a few seconds and arrived at her side.
“Problem?” he whispered.
“No. Just need a little help,” she said, “Got an inhaler?”
“Nathan’s got them,” Woods pointed back up the stairs.
“I thought he was bringing the Z-bank?” Geraldine cut in.
“No, I put it at the rear with Izzy,” Monica quickly explained, then turned back to Woods, “OK get me an inhale-”
Monica stopped mid-sentence as a distant humming noise suddenly gained intensity and a large hovering drone with noisy rotor blades darted up into view. A searchlight mounted on the front turned on and, underneath the drone, a rod quickly dropped into place pointing in their direction.
“Monica!” Woods shouted and pulled her backwards.
Lightning-blue arcs of electricity split the air and connected with the nearest conductive material. Monica fell back as the electricity continued to drain harmlessly into the metal stairs. After a few seconds, the discharging stopped and the now impotent machine simply hovered in place. A speaker within it now relayed a flustered sounding human voice.
“Halt… er… you’ve entered a restrict-” it said, “Remain where you are…”
Monica started to pick herself up and saw Geraldine run to the stair’s handrail.
“Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” she yelled at the machine.
Monica could see her continuing to unwind the purely decorative bandage from around her forearm.
“I…” the voice faltered, “Hold up your security pass,”
“Here,” she said, and leaning out over the handrail, thrust out her hand.
With one end still in her hand, the remainder of the gathered bandage sailed through the air. The drone’s powerful downdraught sucked the fabric into the nearest rotor where it began to efficiently bandage itself. Geraldine took a step back and tightened her grip. The bandaged rotor jarred to a halt and the, now overpowered, rotor on the opposite corner tipped the drone.
No longer flying horizontally, the rotors accelerated the drone towards the handrail; an acceleration only assisted by Geraldine who proceeded to pull harder. Too late, the other rotors overcompensated for the loss in uplift, ensuring that the drone slammed into the metal handrail with maximum speed. The first rotor ripped itself to shreds, putting the entire drone into a rapid spin, at which point it devoted the rest of its power into repeatedly smashing itself against the metal staircase. Unable to hold the increased weight any longer, Geraldine let go of her improvised tether. With high-pitched motors still whining, the drone plummeted to the USV floor several storeys below, where a splintering crunch ended the noise.
Adrenaline now flooding her veins, Monica heard footsteps beginning to descend the stairs.
“No!” she yelled, effectively halting them from proceeding any further, “Stay back!”
Beneath them, the power was still out and with the drone’s searchlight now gone, only the ambient light from other USV sections reached them.
“Geraldine?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, flexing her hand open and closed.
“Woods?”
“Not so good,” he moaned, still lying down, “Bloody drone…”
In the dim light, Monica could see that he’d been injured. There was a large fragment of rotor sticking out of his left thigh, already the surrounding cloth of his trousers was soaked a deep red.
“Geraldine, help me get his belt off,” Monica began applying pressure above the wound.
“Tourniquet, yep, got it,” Geraldine began unbuckling his belt.
“At least buy me a drink first,” Woods quipped, then winced.
Monica could hear voices in the darkness below.
“We have to get him to their hospital,” Geraldine started threading the belt around his thigh, “Before you left Archive, where was it - central region or Samphire station?”
Woods winced in pain as Geraldine tightened the belt.
“We’re dead already,” Monica realised, “They’re on the way up.”
Geraldine stopped moving and listened. The voices below had become a general commotion. Woods cleared his throat.
“You have to leave me here, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry,” Monica patted his shoulder.
“Shit,” Woods said, “Well let’s not get sentimental about it, if they’re on the way up, just-”
“No,” Monica interrupted, “I’m sorry. That drone had a man at the other end. He asked to see a security pass, so the drone had a camera. He’s seen the three of us together. All three of us are dead already.”
Far below, footsteps had begun to mount the stairwell.
Geraldine let out a heavy breath, “I was just getting the hang of not being dead anymore.”
Monica found herself rubbing at her engagement ring. Unbidden, a memory had surfaced. Geraldine had once left Archive to help Monica continue construction of the Warren. Part of the process had required Geraldine to falsify her own death in a staged USV cave-in; Monica had given her the ring to establish a trust that they would see each other again. It appeared they’d come full circle. Now, mere yards from where she had made a promise to her, Monica was putting her in peril again.
“Geraldine…” Monica began.
“You’re right. Of course you’re bloody right,” Geraldine glanced up the stairwell, “What about everybody else?”
Monica looked up into the darkness surrounding the stairs above her.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but suddenly another memory presented itself in full clarity; it had been at the top of those stairs, just before Geraldine’s successful cave-in. Monica had seen a wide circle, resembling an engagement ring, drawn on the rock above her head. Back then, it had been the location marker for the future Glaucus Dock vertical access shaft, but a few minutes ago she’d seen the completed
dock.
“Nathan!” she called out and heard his footsteps begin to rattle down the steps.
Several minutes ago, a tsunami had hit Dover; in all probability, the Glaucus docking ring at the summit of the access shaft was submerged. However, the fact that an hour ago it had been on dry ground, had given her an idea. Where the inspiration came from she couldn’t be sure, but it was persistent.
“What the hell happened?” Nathan arrived at her side.
“No time!” she cut in, “Get everyone back to the Warren.”
“But, Monica,” he stammered.
“Stop!” she snapped at him, “I guess there’s no other way. Nathan, might I suggest that you listen very carefully?”
Nathan focussed on her intensely.
“Good. In about a minute,” she began, “Woods, Geraldine and I will be captured. Get everyone back to the Warren and barricade yourselves inside until you can regroup. They’ll conduct a search of the stairwell, but they won’t necessarily come looking for you in the Warren.”
She then turned her head to Woods and Geraldine to ensure they heard the plan, “When we’re captured, we’ll tell them we came in through the Glaucus docking ring on the surface. We tell them that we came down through the vertical access shaft, then down these stairs. Their drone witnessed three fugitives… so we give them three fugitives.”
She turned back to Nathan.
“The offices next to the Glaucus Dock?” she asked rhetorically, “Kick a few doors in, make us look bad, but don’t steal anything. We want them distracted but not searching for missing stuff.”
Nathan nodded but still listened carefully.
Monica pulled out the photocopies of Sam Bishop’s notebook from her pocket. She knew this information shouldn’t be found on her when she was captured. Over the past few months she’d placed ticks next to several of the red-lined surnames, but here her search would end.
“Nathan,” Monica forced the pages into his hands, “You now know the importance of the work. Protect the twelve.”
Monica began to hear fragments of indistinct but hurried conversation, coming from below.
“Nathan, do you understand all that I have said?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Here ends the lesson.”
Nathan glanced around his immediate surroundings then bolted swiftly up the stairs.
“What, no goodbye?” Woods muttered.
“It’s OK, Woods,” she turned to him, “Nathan’s not really himself at the moment.”
“Oh…” Woods seemed to suddenly realise what she meant, “You did the…”
Monica simply nodded and sat down next to him. As the voices below became more discernible as individuals, Geraldine sat on the step next to Monica.
“Shit,” she summarised.
“Yep,” Monica replied.
The footsteps reached the flight of stairs directly below.
“So,” Geraldine dragged in a deep breath, “Go gentle? Or rage against?”
Monica glanced at the stairwell above them.
“They need all the time they can get.”
“Now how did I know you’d say that?” Geraldine stood again, then helped her up.
Monica pulled her close and hugged her tightly.
“Goodbye, old friend.”
THE WARREN
13th April 2014
In the gentle clamour of the Warren, Marcus drank the weak coffee solution.
“I just assumed that Woods and Mercer had got busted topside,” he said, “while trying to find the Substandards’ descendants.”
His term implied no disrespect. The twelve ‘Substandard’ people present in the Warren treated it almost as a badge of honour; their red-lined surnames on Sam Bishop’s list was a mark of their genetic difference.
“Woods went with Geraldine back in November, just after you left for France,” said Nathan, “but they were back within a few days.”
“Monica’s been in the USV as long as we were,” Marcus realised, “We didn’t even know she’d been taken.”
“You couldn’t have done a thing,” Nathan almost read his mind, “Damn Peace Keeper death-bots…”
The words brought Marcus’ attention back to what he’d been doing before returning here. The laptop in his bag had finished another analysis subroutine.
“Is she gonna be alright?” Nathan nodded towards Sabine.
Marcus could see that, like him, she was taking advantage of a hot drink; a luxury that hadn’t been available to them for months. Occasionally she would look over the rim of her mug at the others nearby.
“Yeah. She just doesn’t know you guys,” said Marcus, “Trust ain’t gonna come easy. We went through a lot.”
“How the hell did you get out of Paris?”
“Story for another time,” Marcus shook his head and pulled the laptop from his bag, “Any chance I can hook this up to the TV screen in AR1?”
“Yeah, I think it still - whoa!” Nathan saw the laptop.
“I know,” Marcus couldn’t help smiling at his reaction, “Mil-spec, network camouflage, quad-core…”
“Sweet,” Nathan looked it over, “Where’d you get it?”
“Off the back of a train,” he replied truthfully.
“Fine,” Nathan smiled, “I won’t ask. Want me to go hook it up?”
“No, I’ve got an i-o port workaround going, I’ll have to sort it.”
“Alright, come on then,” Nathan began to walk away.
Marcus turned to follow him, but found his own muscles halting him; the thought of leaving Sabine behind seemed intensely uncomfortable. Apart from the times she’d been on supply runs, they’d never been out of each other’s sight.
Perhaps she’d somehow picked up on his intention to depart because, although the space was full of the Warren’s occupants, her eyes found his.
Marcus flashed her an OK symbol with his thumb and forefinger. In reply, she made a loose fist with her right hand, then raised her middle finger. Her eyes, however, told him what he needed to know. He found himself mirroring the grin that was spreading across her face; she’d be alright. He turned away and followed Nathan.
After spending so long in the open space of the USV, he had to readjust to the Warren’s constrictive layout. As they walked through the narrow spaces, the rough-hewn walls returned the sound of their footsteps and voices almost immediately. He’d quite forgotten how close the hard walls actually were.
Marcus saw Nathan pull out the photocopies that Monica had given to him.
“When I came here, I didn’t know what the hell this list was,” Nathan admitted, “Just another bit of paper in Archive’s endless information war. When the whole Luóxuán thing happened, I just traded it to save my own sorry ass.”
“We were lucky to get out of that alive,” Marcus nodded.
The Z-bank that Nathan had removed from Luóxuán Biotech had prompted a helicopter gunship to destroy the cottage they’d been standing in. To avoid the resulting combustion, both Marcus and Nathan had been forced into taking undignified descents to the Warren’s ‘Arrivals Lounge’.
“I owe you,” said Nathan, “I know that.”
“Forget it, mate,” Marcus said, “We’re still sucking down air. I know a ton of people who’d swap places.”
In the quiet moment that followed, Marcus found himself thinking of those who’d never found safety before the lunar shards had hit. He’d had several hard months, scrounging for food with Sabine, but he’d lived. Billions of others hadn’t.
Nathan appeared similarly lost in thought.
“My dad,” Nathan tapped at the ‘Ron B.’ signature on the photocopies, “He said that when his sister married William Pittman it changed everything. Ron and Dorothy hardly ever spoke again. Dad said Sam Bishop’s aim was to keep knowledge separated, ‘cos there was less danger that people would piece it all together. I think he had good intentions, but it screwed us up.”
“Your family, or the planet?” asked Marcus a
s they crossed through a tight intersection.
“Maybe both,” Nathan replied, “Not being able to discuss anything with anyone… I think it put a rift between my dad and Aunt Dot. Archive’s screwed-up world stemmed from Sam Bishop’s approach.”
As they continued to walk, Marcus found himself drawing an invisible family tree with his finger.
“You prob’ly told me this before, but if Dorothy was your dad’s sister, then that makes Bradley your cousin, right?”
Nathan’s angry snort of discomfort echoed off the wall.
“Cousin would be one word. Murderous shit-head would be another. I mean can you imagine what it must’ve been like for Aunt Dot? Having to raise that brat, just so that her husband would stay invested in Archive’s projects?”
“I guess,” Marcus conceded, “No offence, but I really ain’t got any sympathy for any of ‘em.”
“Maybe that’s why she set herself up teaching at the Pittman Academy,” Nathan appeared to muse.
“Er…”
“With Bradley for a kid,” Nathan smiled, “It was the one place she could have an intelligent conversation!”
Marcus found himself laughing along with Nathan. Here in the Warren there was no consequence for speaking out against Bradley Pittman; but in the narrow tunnels the laughter sounded hollow.
Ahead, next to AR1, Marcus could see that the Arrivals Lounge door was closed. As they continued to walk, he heard Nathan’s sigh.
“What?”
“Remember Cal Dawson?” Nathan asked.
“Of course,” Marcus replied immediately, “His quick thinking stopped you getting pasted over the far end of the Arrivals track.”
“Well, his quick thinking saved the Warren too,” Nathan replied, “he stopped the whole facility flooding. We still don’t know how he did it.”
“What, so no-one’s asked him?” Marcus replied.
“He didn’t make it,” Nathan pointed to the closed door of the Arrivals Lounge, “Woods was with him last. He said seawater breached through the arrivals chute and Cal barricaded the door from the inside.”
The news stung him. During Marcus’ own early days at the Warren, Cal had been among the first to make him feel welcome. Even here, buried under Dover, the lunar impacts had continued to claim good people.
Boundary (Field Book 3) Page 24
