2041 Sanctuary (Let There Be Light)

by Robert Storey

  ♦

  Trish made a grab for the Centipede’s control unit. ‘Press the button!’

  ‘No, she can make it!’ Jason saw Sarah leap and he held his breath before the bridge vanished in a cloud of dust.

  Trish screamed and he pressed the button.

  ‘Why didn’t you press it?’ A sob escaped Trish’s lips.

  In shock, and still pressing the button over and over, Jason looked at the device, confused. ‘I did.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Pelican Bay, California, USA

  The heavy, reinforced door slid closed with a resounding boom. A buzzer sounded and a green light switched to red.

  ‘Cellblock A1 locked and secure.’

  ‘Cameras and failsafes?’

  ‘The grid’s operating at full capacity. All security measures are in the green.’

  ‘What’s the old one up to?’

  The prison guard, Jayden Connor, known to his friends as Jay, brought up a picture of a cell on the wallscreen. ‘Taking a nap by the looks of it.’

  ‘And the son of Satan?’

  Jay switched to another image. A powerfully built man, stripped to the waist and wearing prison issue orange trousers, hung from one of the horizontal bars that supported the transparent walls of his high-tech cell. ‘He’s just about to start.’

  ‘How many do you think he’ll manage today?’

  The inmate pulled himself up with his arms and extended his effort until his waist met his hands and his arms locked out. He then lowered himself back down again with effortless ease before repeating the process over.

  Jay glanced at his colleague. ‘Four fifty.’

  ‘What? He did six hundred two weeks back.’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s been out of it since then. Enough drugs to kill a rhino.’

  ‘With good reason; he bit Wilson’s fingers off.’

  ‘And he got a good beating for it, that’s why four fifty.’

  ‘They’re lucky they didn’t kill him.’

  Jay gave a grunt. ‘He deserved it, everything that’s happened he’s deserved.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ – the other guard shifted in his seat in discomfort – ‘some of the stuff they’ve done …’

  ‘What, you don’t feel sorry for him, do you?’

  ‘Not sorry, exactly.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘It just doesn’t sit right. I know what he did was all sorts of wrong, but torturing the guy won’t bring back the people he killed.’

  Jay shrugged. ‘If the cops had their way he’d be dead already and the FBI couldn’t have made it any more obvious they’d turn a blind eye to their treatment.’

  ‘I think Wilson got his comeuppance.’

  ‘How’d ya figure?’

  ‘He was tormenting him. And it was his idea to take away his meds.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jay said, ‘not the best move. Who knew, though? We have no files on them. We don’t even know their names. If Wilson had known what would happen if he stopped his pills he’d never have done it.’

  The other guard looked back at the prisoner in question. Muscles rippled and sweat ran over his bruised skin while military tattoos on his arms stretched in time to his exertion. ‘He’s obviously insane. I don’t know how he’s not in a mental facility. And they employed him in the army, how crazy is that?’

  ‘Pretty damn crazy.’

  ‘I’m surprised his defence team didn’t try for the diminished thing.’

  ‘Diminished responsibility?’ Jay said. ‘No way. He knew exactly what he was doing; he’s as sane as you or I when he’s got those little red poppers of his.’

  His colleague gave him a dubious look, a speak for yourself kind of look.

  ‘Well, maybe not,’ Jay conceded. ‘But over a hundred people dead, most of them federal agents and police officers. There was no way in hell they were gonna give in to a plea bargain. Some were calling for the chair. If anyone deserves to fry, it’s him.’

  ‘I doubt they’ll reinstate it for one person.’

  Jay sat back in his chair. ‘Shame.’

  The door to the security office opened; the warden entered and both men rose from their seats.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ the warden said, ‘we have a contingent of VIPs coming to speak to the prisoner.’

  ‘Which one, sir?’ Jay said.

  The warden pointed to the screen and the exercising man they’d just been discussing. ‘As before, they’ll need complete control of all security and that includes all recording equipment.’

  Apprehensive, Jay looked to his superior. ‘I take it this lot know who they’re dealing with? It took us hours to clean up the mess last time.’

  The warden wandered over to the console to gaze at the prisoner. ‘They’re U.S. Army officers accompanied by a couple of GMRC officials.’

  ‘Shall we subdue and sedate beforehand?’

  ‘No. They said they’ll handle it. Just run them through our protocols and then leave them to it. We’ll make sure the outer corridors are sealed off in case there’s any trouble. They seem capable, though, ex marines by the look of it, so they should be able to handle him.’

  ‘That’s what they said last time,’ Jay said.

  The warden made a face. ‘As they say, that’s their problem. We just do as we’re told. I’ll just be glad when these two aren’t here anymore.’

  ‘Any more problems with the press, sir?’ Jay’s colleague said.

  The warden glanced at the prison guard. ‘Yes. We had to arrest two more reporters this morning. Cheeky bastards were trying to come in disguised as a cleaning crew. I don’t know if you saw, but the number of news vans outside has increased. The closer we come to the sentencing, the more intense this circus becomes.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jay said, ‘I saw them on the way in. They’re going nuts. I almost ran one down when they tried to stop me for questions, damn fool jumped right out in front of me.’

  The warden looked grim. ‘It would help if the authorities, the GMRC, the FBI, whoever, revealed who these men were. The longer they try and keep it under wraps, the greater the furore.’

  A knock on the door made everyone turn. ‘The security chief ducked his head inside. ‘They’re here.’

  The warden nodded. ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Professor Steiner lay on the bottom bunk, his head resting back on a pillow and his vision engulfed by the bland underside of the mattress above. After twenty years of leading the world’s response to the meteor threat as a member of the GMRC Directorate, he often wondered how his life had come to this, locked up in a supermax prison for the crimes of another. Granted, he’d helped Colonel Samson during his insane rampage through Los Angeles, but his part had been enforced by his need to save the lives of hundreds of thousands of people still trapped underground in USSB Steadfast, put there by the unfathomable actions of Malcolm Joiner, the GMRC’s duplicitous intelligence director. Furthermore, he’d never intended for anyone to get hurt, but Samson had instigated a plan of his own making, a plan that saw him risk everything to secure the safety of his daughter, an FBI agent who loathed her father as much, if not more, than Steiner himself. Steiner had tried his best to prevent more deaths by guiding Samson to safety so that he might help in the liberation of Steadfast’s entombed GMRC residents. Of course, none of this had any bearing to those that had imprisoned him, the FBI and civilian judiciary. They were out for his blood, no more aware of his contributions to the future welfare of the human race than the majority of the populace, the billions who remained blissfully unaware of the meteors that closed in on their position with every passing second. Only the dust cloud that had resulted from the impact of the first meteorite the year before ensured mass panic hadn’t already destroyed the tenuous illusion that was human civilisation.

  A small sound, a steady tap tap tap, squirmed its way into Steiner’s awareness. Moving his head to the side, he looked up at the skylight on the cell’s high ce
iling. On the glass pane, a bird pecked at the window. After it stopped its attention seeking noise, it returned to the task of preening its feathers. Steiner continued to watch the animal, lost in its simplicity, until a cell door slammed, causing the bird to take flight into the freedom of the skies. Steiner wished he could join it. He shifted on the mattress and winced at the pain that racked his body every time he moved. The guards that looked after him had ensured his stay had been as uncomfortable as possible. However, his luck had improved a little in the last few days. Instead of daily rounds of verbal abuse followed by the occasional brutal beating, he’d been left pretty much alone. The reason for his reprieve was the same individual who’d been complicit in his current incarceration. Colonel Samson had proved as indomitable in prison as he had without and it had been his actions that had ensured Steiner was merely a forgotten appetiser to the main course. From the screams Steiner had heard emanating from Samson’s cell, the colonel had been subjected to horrific practises of torture. These sickening sounds had repulsed him so much on one occasion he’d shed a tear for the monster who’d taken the lives of so many. He could have warned them the colonel was one man they didn’t want to antagonise, but he’d decided they could have the joy of finding that out for themselves, such were the pleasures afforded him, such had become the bitterness in the broken shell of his mind he called home. And it wasn’t long before Samson had duly delivered, dishing out some of his own medicine despite the efforts of the guards to keep their distance. Samson was nothing if not resourceful. Steiner remembered the small smile that had crept onto his face when the tables had been turned.

  He frowned. That those times had given him enjoyment had disturbed him more than anything else. It felt like he was in a continuous fight against the oppression of darkness. Time and again his calm was broken by an array of frightening thoughts, thoughts so bestial he didn’t recognise them as his own. He could not let himself be corrupted before … before what he knew was an inevitability – life imprisonment, which on the surface meant he’d be dead, if not within the year, then within four when the final asteroids made landfall. He intended to go out of life with his head held high and his dignity intact. He would not give Malcolm Joiner the pleasure of his destruction. As far as he was concerned he was still Director General of the GMRC’s Subterranean Division and he was damned if he was going to let his last breath be one of torment. He would embrace death as he had life, with courage, optimism and a measured resolution.

  His greatest fear was that if he allowed himself to be consumed by hate and despair, Amelia wouldn’t recognise him when they met beyond the veil. As he was wont to do, his thoughts turned to his wife, taken from him thirty years ago, stolen by fate’s cold, chaotic hand. His fingertips strayed to the gold wedding band that still adorned his ring finger. Touching it conjured up Amelia’s beautiful smile. Her features had grown indistinct over the years, despite the photos of her he’d kept in his wallet, offices and home, his memory couldn’t secure the outlines he could have once drawn with his eyes closed. But then Amelia had never been the body she’d inhabited, not to him; her soul was what he loved and, as everyone knew, the eyes were the window through which to view the spirit within. The body was a vessel, a biological construct for the mind. Steiner, with an IQ through the roof and enlightenment beyond most, turned his focus to the questions that he often posed himself. These had initially been ones of escape and retribution, but as time progressed such futility had fallen by the wayside. He’d decided that his days should be spent on something constructive rather than the impossible, so he’d resolved to address the fundamentals of the human consciousness and the riddle of the power of man. Why was it some people were capable of such great advances in science and knowledge while others weren’t? There were a few central principles he knew to be true—

  The familiar wail of a siren halted his deliberations. Steiner rolled over to see a group of men entering the segregated compound that housed Samson’s cell and his own. Four of the group were military – ranking officers by the looks of their uniforms – and the other two men, dressed in the garb of GMRC officials, wheeled along a substantial square container. Curious, Steiner got to his feet and moved across his cell to watch these visitors pass by, his hands pressed against the clear walls of his prison.

  One of the GMRC men glanced in his direction before disappearing from view around a corner and the opaque barrier that separated Steiner’s cell from Samson’s. Steiner sat back down on his bunk. He was sure he recognised the man, but he couldn’t place him. With a shake of the head, he lay back down to resume his ponderings of reality and the power of the mind to control it.

  Half an hour passed before the sound of voices brought Steiner back to his surroundings. The group of men that had entered now departed. Once more the sensation of familiarity sparked in his mind; the GMRC official definitely rang a bell in his head, but Steiner had never been the best with names and faces and he’d seen so many GMRC officials … he could know him from anywhere.

  The smell of something burning made him sniff to confirm its presence. He looked round and then up to see a waft of smoke drifting across the top of the enclosure’s transparent walls and the bars that supported them.

  ‘Hey!’ He waved his arms at the people leaving.

  None turned, even though Steiner banged on the walls and shouted at the top of his voice. The smoke above continued billowing through. Coughing, he covered his mouth with a forearm before tearing a piece of cloth from his thin bed sheets to wrap round his face. Dark, acrid clouds flooded in through the ceiling to roll down into Steiner’s cell in waves. Orange light flickered on the far walls and a sudden barrage of shouting and banging emanated from Samson’s cell. Steiner waved at the cameras he knew watched his every move, trying to get the attention of the guards. The fire burned brighter and flames licked at the ceiling. Steiner could feel the heat now and he backed away to the far wall.

  A scream of agony pierced the air. Again and again Samson’s terror-stricken, horrific shrieks fell on deaf ears. No sprinkler system kicked into action and no help came rushing to the prisoners’ aid. The fire continued unabated and Steiner was forced to the floor in search of clean air. A final strangled screech ended in silence as Samson succumbed to the inferno that sought to smother Steiner with its black fumes. Seconds passed like minutes and minutes passed like hours as Steiner clung to life.

  Finally a siren sounded, lights flashed and water cascaded down. The sprinklers doused the flames and giant fans whirred into life to extract the cloying smoke. Guards stormed into the compound and Steiner felt consciousness slipping as his eyelids slid closed.

  ♦

  ‘What do you mean, the system didn’t work?’

  ‘It was disabled; whoever set the fire wanted it to burn. In fact the fans had been activated in reverse to ensure the fire had enough oxygen. They also used some kind of accelerant. The flames were far hotter than a normal fire, hence the condition of the body.’

  The warden peered down at the blackened carcass. The man’s ridged limbs had contorted into a fearful posture, his teeth bared in an animalistic grin of death. ‘Have the people responsible been found?’

  The chief of security wagged his head. ‘They took a helicopter out, same way they came in. We’ve reported the incident and the FBI are en route. They’re not happy, questions will be asked.’

  The warden cursed and rubbed his eyes. As if I didn’t have enough paperwork already. He gave a sigh. ‘How’s the other one doing?’

  ‘He’s still in the hospital wing, smoke inhalation. They say he’ll recover. The FBI said they want to speak to him as soon as they arrive.’

  ‘What about the military?’

  ‘The U.S. Army rep said they sent no officers to this location. We’re still getting the runaround from the GMRC, although the police were quick to distance themselves from the incident, perhaps too quick.’

  ‘I don’t think they’d pull a stunt like this, no matter how many of their n
umber were murdered by Mr. Crispy here.’

  ‘Maybe,’ – the chief scratched his head – ‘I don’t know what to think, to be honest. This whole thing’s been a mess from start to finish.’

  The warden swore. ‘And we’re the ones who’re gonna get it in the neck.’

  ‘There is an upside, sir.’

  The warden looked at him, wondering if he’d lost his mind. ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘At least we won’t have to look after this fucker anymore.’

  The warden looked down at the grim spectacle and realised he was right. A broad smile spread across his face. ‘And who said there were no silver linings?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  USSB Sanctuary, Mexico

  GMRC Intelligence Director Malcolm Joiner sat in his office. In his hand he held the remote control for the three hundred and sixty degree immersive screen that covered every surface of his office walls, ceiling and floor. He’d been pleased when it was installed; it gave him a sense of control over his surroundings. At a flick of a finger he could be anywhere on the planet. He pressed a button and the wastelands of the Sahara filled his vision, its arid beauty seeming real enough to touch. He selected another view. The vastness of space resolved into being, the essence of the farthest galaxies giving him a yearning for the solitude such heavenly bodies enjoyed on an eternal basis. Beneath his feet the joys of the Milky Way rotated like a giant Catherine wheel, the celestial dance a visible reminder of how tiny the solar system and everything on Earth really was. Joiner frowned and switched to another image. Blossoming trees of a temperate forest swayed in the breeze. The crests of mountains stood tall on the horizon and low lying clouds nestled at their feet, while the setting sun sent rays of light dappling nearby meadows and streams. He stood up and walked around the room, savouring the simulated grass at his feet. The upgrades he’d added to the virtual system had been worth the money; Richard Goodwin’s screen, which he’d acquisitioned from USSB Steadfast, had been good, but Joiner felt it lacked in certain places. A bit like the man himself, Joiner thought, thinking about Steadfast’s deposed base director. He wondered where Goodwin and his Darklight and civilian entourage had ended up within Sanctuary Proper. Crushed beneath a mass of rock, perhaps, or dead at the bottom of a ravine, or just holed up in a cave, withered and dead from starvation or dehydration. Any which way, it was a relief to know that particular problem had resolved itself; having Goodwin and his merry men running around in Sanctuary could have proved quite detrimental to his work, and more specifically the Committee’s. The transition of power was at a critical point and any outside influence could put back their carefully laid plans by decades.