by Ian Williams
Suddenly the man began to speak. “What have you done?”
“Place your hands on your head and lay on the ground,” the officer in the middle of the line said. When the man ignored him he tried again. “I said, hands on your head and drop to the floor. Now.”
There was no getting through to the man. Something kept his mind fixated on the screen and the moving shapes. Although Graham had noticed that a few of the shapes were less energetic and a lot more distorted than before.
“You bastards,” the man said, still watching the screen a little too closely.
“I’m going to drop him,” the officer said. He stepped forward and took aim. Then with his finger ready, resting it lightly against the trigger, he stopped one last time to ask the man to comply. “On the floor, now!”
The man dropped his gaze from a few of the shapes hovering above him and turned his head to the side. He peered back over his shoulder. “Or what?” he said.
“Or I’ll open fire.”
At that the man slowly turned to face the officer and stared back. He began to obey, as if not doing so had not really entered his head. He placed both arms behind his head and lowered himself to his knees. Once there he stayed in place until the officer began to walk to him.
At the same time Graham looked on, feeling a mixture of apprehension and excitement at the scene. It appeared to be under control, so the fear had gone. Except his heart failed to realise and so continued to beat faster than normal. For a moment it stayed like this until the man started to stare straight at him. Shit, he knows it was me, he thought. Suddenly he froze. His heart had finally caught up and instantly did the same.
The officer lowered his gun and let it hang at his side by the shoulder strap. He pulled a set of hand-cuffs from the back of his belt and began to fiddle with activating the self-tensioning settings. That proved a huge mistake.
The man had spotted his opportunity to escape and he was about to take it. Without hesitation he returned to his feet and grabbed the rifle at the officer’s side. He yanked the strap up, forcing the officer’s arm into the air, then pulled him around to be between himself and the line of officers – who could only watch. There was nowhere he could go. The only exit resided behind the officer’s firing squad.
Graham saw the man’s next move clearly in his mind: he would soon turn the gun on one of the Simova employees there. After all, Graham and Elliot had caused the damage to the system. Keeping this in mind he decided to make himself a difficult target by moving behind cover. The officer to his side wore a protective jacket anyway. Graham on the other hand had nothing at all. If he were hit then he would certainly feel the full force of the electric charge, it would run through him. He remembered only an hour earlier he had struggled to shake the image of himself being shot with a Shock-bullet. Now it looked like he was about feel it for real.
“Everyone back,” the man ordered. He raised the rifle and tried his best to aim at the other officers – the one officer he already held struggled against him. Clearly strong, and with a good few inches of height over the officer as well, he was now in control. Adding to his crazed look, his neck was thick and full of pulsating veins protruding out of the skin. But the eyes held the most danger. They were wide and bulging, with a great rage waiting behind them.
“Easy, easy,” one of the other officers said.
As the scene continued, Graham became distracted by a small amount of light reflecting off the back of the officer he hid behind. When he realised it was his wrist screen he discreetly raised it up to see why. He was surprised to find Chief Superintendent Jackson looking back at him.
“Hello?” Graham said.
“Graham, can you get out without causing a fuss?”
“I think so.”
“Good, do so now. Stay behind my men and we’ll have you out safe and sound.”
The screen returned to its see-through design, revealing a tiny forest of hairs standing up on his arm, above a layer of goose bumps. He ducked down and started toward the door, making sure not to draw attention to himself as he moved. Halfway along the line he stopped and peered through the gap between the officers. He could see that another officer had now taken point and was a few steps in front of the others – luckily one he had already passed. When he set off again he missed spotting the thick, black cable that was lying across his path. He tripped and stumbled ahead, bashing into the officer at the end of the line and pushing him forward.
“Who’s that?” the man suddenly shouted. He pointed his gun at the officer Graham had hit. “Come out or I’ll start shooting. I know how many of these shots a person can take before their heart gives out, so don’t fucking push me!”
There was no use in trying to hide anymore. He raised his hands above his head and slowly walked out to the left of the police line. Elliot was standing beside him and watching in amazement as Graham walked past and stood in front of the line.
“You did this. Tell me what you’ve done,” the man said.
Graham saw a sudden sadness in the man’s eyes. There were signs of an emotion other than anger seeping through the craziness. It fought for attention. His reaction to what was happening inside the system, obviously his system, could no longer be contained. Surprisingly, the man appeared to be visibly upset.
“I was trying to understand it, that’s all,” Graham said.
“You can’t understand it, no-one can. Only we know what they are. You’ll pay for what you’ve done, I promise you.”
“Sir, please keep back and let us deal with this,” the officer behind him said.
But Graham refused to move. Something inside him held his body locked in place. If he could understand just a tiny part of what the man meant, he felt sure he could find a common ground on which they could talk. He needed to know what was going on. The job he did only destroyed MARC corruptions. He never studied them, which the people who were running the warehouse appeared to be doing. It was a travesty that they knew less about the MARCs than a D-Stim addicted criminal, who lived a life that ordinary people could hardly even imagine.
“Help me understand then, please. Maybe I can help you,” Graham said.
The man kept his eyes squarely locked onto Graham’s. What he was thinking remained hidden, his face had drained of emotion entirely. For a moment it looked as if the man was about to speak again. But he had no intention of speaking at all, rather to quiet the man responsible for damaging his system. Without another word he slowly raised his rifle and fired.
With nowhere to go, Graham blocked his face with his arms and waited for the Shock-bullet to impact his chest. Nothing happened. Instead he heard it hit someone else and that person fell to the floor. He opened his eyes and was relieved to see one of the officers on the floor. Thankfully he was fine as his vest had absorbed the electrical charge and quickly dissipated it. He had clearly known this when jumping in front of Graham.
“Fire!” the officer standing point shouted to the men behind him.
As soon as the word had left his mouth, a barrage of shots rang out and raced toward the man. A couple of the shots hit the other officer, who then fell away and lay flat on the ground. He would also be fine as his protective clothing was performing its job well. The same could not be said of the man, however.
“Zzzzzzzzzz,” the man called out, his yellow and stained teeth clenched tightly shut. His involuntary response was accompanied by a violent shaking all over his body and a froth of spit that hung at the sides of his mouth. He stood for a second or two until his limbs could do nothing to support him. They too then began to jerk uncontrollably. When he finally hit the floor his eyes had rolled back into his head and only the whites of his eyes were still visible. He began to curl up into a ball by the side of the officer he had held prisoner only moments earlier.
Graham was terrified by the spectacle that had played out before him. He watched as the man’s convulsions continued, though they were happening much less frequently now. The police had hit the guy with at
least four Shock-bullets and the results were obvious. A man, much larger than most of the others in the room, now rested unconscious on the floor and dribbling bubbles from the side of his mouth. It formed a pool under his head that slowly soaked into his greasy hair.
The ordeal ended as quickly as it had started, only demonstrating exactly how high the emotions had been flowing. For some extreme, and ultimately unknown, reason the man had forced the police into firing at him. He had suffered far worse consequences than Graham had expected too. And for what? An isolated unit for MARCs? It made little sense to Graham.
“You OK?” Elliot asked. He placed a hand on the back of Graham’s neck and pulled their foreheads together. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to speak to him.”
They separated and stood watching as the police were joined by a female medic, who quickly checked the man’s vitals. But Elliot was not done worrying. “What the hell would I have told Jane if you’d gotten yourself killed? Or Ruth? Did you think about that before you decided to go all negotiator on the guy? Jesus. Ruth and Jane would’ve buried me next to you if you’d died here – whether I was dead or not.” Elliot wiped his hand through the cropped hair on his head, which sprung back the instant he moved on.
“I’m seriously worried about what they were planning with all of this. I just don’t understand any of it,” Graham said.
“I’m with you on that one. Something tells me this isn’t the only place like this.”
Graham had yet to even consider that facet, and he felt like a student struggling to keep up in class as suddenly the same thing occurred to him too. If there were more, then perhaps thousands of MARCs could be living, untouched and unmonitored. If only one could bring a whole street down, then not that many more could cripple the entire city.
Chief Superintendent Jackson appeared from behind a group of his men, the men still blocking the door. He peered over at the medic attending the man on the floor and then to the screen in the background. The display clearly meant nothing to him at all as his face remained unchanged by it. When he found Graham and Elliot standing and watching him enter, he walked over to join them. “Are you OK?” he said.
“I’m fine thanks,” Graham said.
“That was a brave thing you did. I’d still rather you hadn’t.”
“I’ll second that,” Elliot said.
After sending a quick look to Elliot, telling him to ‘shut up’, Graham pointed toward the large wall display. “This is going to take a while to sort out I’m afraid. We’ve got people coming to help.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ve ordered my men to take the prisoners back to the station, so you’ve no need to worry about your safety. Just get to work as soon as you’re ready.” The Chief Superintendent then ordered a few of his men to stay inside the building as he left through the exit.
With the room now much quieter, Graham could once again hear the hum of the computers lining the wall. Their constant whirling caused a sigh to escape him as he enjoyed the chance to ease his nerves.
“We still need to find out how they’ve been powering all of this,” Elliot said. “Any idea where to start?”
With a not too thorough search around the room, Graham came up empty. However the machines were being powered, it was coming from somewhere outside the warehouse. He would have expected this sort of equipment to require a plugged-in type of power connection, especially considering its age. This was not the norm anymore. Everything now drew its power from the wireless power-grid that existed within all the cities in the UK, and many others around the world – although they were yet to use Simova’s technology.
“If it was taking power wirelessly like everything else does, then there should be a power relay nearby that’s providing it. The fusion reactors are the only things providing power these days, so it has to be coming from the power-grid. But since this is all wired, then I’d guess they’ve tapped into the nearest relay and cabled it to here. I could track that easily,” Graham said.
Elliot looked to Graham and raised his eyebrow, disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t leave my sight. I don’t trust that you won’t go all vigilante and start fighting crime.”
“With this figure, I think not.” Graham shook his belly like a jovial old man and was disappointed to see it continue to wobble a short while longer.
“Look, there’s help on the way, so why don’t you go home. I can handle things here.”
“What, and let you have all the fun?”
“No, but I bet Jane would be grateful. You did promise her you’d be home by five today.”
It was a caring gesture, yet Graham found it hard to shake the feeling that Elliot wanted him out of the way. His head felt a little hazy after all of the excitement, so he decided to put his doubts away for later. The truth was he had every intention of taking his partner’s generous offer and wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by the ones he loved. If things had gone differently then he may have ended up seeing them next in a hospital, when he would have eventually awoken after sustaining a substantial electric shock.
“If I go, will you cover for me?” Graham asked.
“Are you serious? I’ve known you since I was fifteen, of course I won’t cover for you,” Elliot replied with a laugh and a gentle tap on Graham’s back.
“Fine, I’ll go. I could do with something to eat before I collapse anyway.” Graham held his hands together and felt how clammy they had become. He suspected the sweat that dampened his shirt was more from a lack of food than any fear he had endured. He decided that his first port of call would be to find a place where he could buy something totally unhealthy to eat. Once there he would force at least three portions more than was recommended by the daily message on his mirror each morning, down his gullet; Nanny State indeed, he thought.
“Good. If you could still check the power relay, that’d be grand,” Elliot said.
“Just remember who’s the boss, OK?”
Elliot stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and then turned to begin working on the MARCs still locked inside the hacker’s system. As he walked away he waved his hand over the back of his shoulder to bid Graham farewell.
Once through the group of police officers still blocking the door, Graham was outside and in the freshest air he could remember ever breathing. The inside of the warehouse, despite its large size, had been the stuffiest room he had experienced since nearly fainting in a steam room during his forced visit to a spa with Jane weeks earlier. The thought reminded him of how tired his muscles had become. He would enjoy such a rest now. He had been far too tense for far too long today.
With a quick look to his wrist screen, he saw that the time had just ticked over to 2:34pm. Thanks to Elliot, he was now looking to finish lunch and arrive home with enough time to spare to plan surprising Jane and Alex when they stepped through the door, around 4:30pm usually. He hated interfering with Jane’s plans, so it had come as a huge relief to hear his friend would cover for him. They were close, and since they worked together every day, times to repay a favour often came around soon enough. They would be even the next time Elliot inevitably and predictably arrived late for work the following day.
While nearing the end of the street, he checked his wrist screen for directions to the nearest power relay. This part of the job would only take a few minutes to complete. All he had to do was follow the map that physically protruded out of his screen, which he could touch and move however he wanted. It would lead him straight to the nearest power relay, where he could then investigate whatever was going out of it. A large power cable jutting out would appear as out of place as a D-Stim gang in a warehouse filled with old computers; the two just did not belong together.
He only hoped Elliot had an easy job ahead of him, and that it ended as uneventfully as possible. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he had left his partner to face a total shit-storm alone.
Chapter 4
Phoenix
The coffee tasted like shit again. It always did in real life. Not like it did in Phoenix’s dreams. In those it tasted fresh and crisp, just like her father had once made. As a child she would wake up to the smell of it and know straight away that everything was fine. Her parents would be in the kitchen while her two brothers played outside on the swing, the swing made of a tyre hanging from a tree branch. The coffee she sipped brought none of these images up, it was never good enough anymore.
While she sat watching, with her legs crossed, a suited man nearby deliberated over where to sit in the café. ‘By the window? Or in the middle?’ he asked his, also smartly dressed, friend. She had little interest in such things, choosing always to sit where was free and where no-one would bother her instead. Today was a better day than most as she had been granted a day off by her boss – even criminals had to rest sometime.
She moved on to staring out the window, searching for something to distract her busy mind. The coffee had failed to stimulate detailed memories of her parents. Still, she tried to remember them anyway. When the steady flow of Mag-Lev cars eventually thinned out, she managed to bring up an image in her mind.
This time her parents were sitting at the kitchen table with her. She guessed she was about eleven at the time, while her brothers would have been around nine and eight years old. Resting on the table was a hunting knife – not for hunting in this case – and a small compass. These are all you need to survive out here, she remembered them saying to her. They had tried their best to teach her the basics of growing up in such a harsh world. But at the time all she wanted to do was play with her brothers in the yard of their farm. In the end they had taught her not nearly enough before they had been murdered for the land they lived on.
The memory faded the moment she thought of the death of her parents. They usually did, even when she inhaled an entire D-Stim before closing her eyes. Sleep was easy for Phoenix, dreaming was not. For that she had resorted to a hit of D-Stim each night before bed for the past six years. Her brothers were the same. Although Dillon was less reliant than she and Sean were.
