by Eliza Green
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GENESIS TRADE
The Genesis Series, Book 5
Eliza Green
Copyright © 2017 Eliza Green
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copy Editor: Andrew Lowe
Proofreader: Sally Vince
Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design
This book was previously published as Isobel & Marcus: Exilon 5 Book 4.5 & 4.6 in 2017
This book is also available in print.
www.elizagreenbooks.com
1
January 2164
‘I hate this job.’
Marcus followed Carl towards the Maglev station exit after their shift ended.
‘Yeah, the autobots were shits today,’ said Carl. He brushed his hand down his overalls. ‘First that stupid kid threw up on the platform. Then his mother rushed off like it was someone else’s brat who’d done it?’
The autobot supervisor had humiliated them both in front of the passengers waiting to board the train. The passengers had given the mess a wide berth, but the smell made it all too clear the kid had chucked up all over the place. Then the autobot had called Marcus and Carl up to deal with it, in front of the chuckling passengers.
And while he cleaned, all Marcus wanted to do was push the smug, laughing bastards onto the track. Carl had nearly come to blows with the autobot when it had told him to hurry.
They passed through the environmental force field surrounding the station and pressed their gel masks to their faces.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Carl. People are shits.’
‘If I hear another word about how lucky we are to have this job, I’m gonna kill someone.’
‘I’ll give you the fucking gun, Carl.’
Marcus was sick of being supervised by hunks of metal with programmed AI personalities. Six months ago, he and Carl had sat one of the World Government aptitude tests. Then the machine had the nerve to spit out their most suitable job: cleaner. But Marcus and Carl had grown up in a bad neighbourhood in Hunts Point, New York, and that gave them other options. On the stoop of Marcus’ apartment block, they’d dreamt of bigger things, what their lives would be like when they got older. They’d done everything together since they were eight years old, even took jobs for the gangs running the streets. But the pay was shit and, at twenty-five, Marcus needed a new place to live after the World Government had listed their entire street as condemned. The cleaning job was the first thing Marcus wished Carl had done alone.
‘So when are we gonna pack in this shit?’ said Carl. ‘I’m nobody’s lackey.’
‘Fucked if I know.’
At least the job came with a government-owned apartment, a replicator and clean air guaranteed. Without a job, they would be kicked out onto the streets to live who knew what life.
But that’s what Marcus craved. Predictability kept him under the thumb. The opposite gave him chances he would never come by on the slow, safe route.
They stopped off in a nearby bar. Marcus still had enough credit left over from the week before to afford one real drink. Not replicated shit; the bootleg stuff. He would make it a good one. Carl ordered his own drink and Marcus’ jaw dropped when Carl’s credit flashed up on the payment panel. Ten times more than Marcus had.
Marcus shook his head and ordered a triple-distilled whiskey. They both sat down in a dark-wood booth near the matching bar.
‘Hey, Carl, where the hell did you get that credit from?’
Carl took a sip. ‘This is good stuff. Really takes the edge off that pile of steaming shit we call a job.’ He looked at Marcus’ glass, untouched. ‘You gonna drink that?’
‘I asked you a question.’
Carl took another sip. ‘Around.’
‘Doing what?’
‘This and that.’
‘Well, fuck, Carl. I could have guessed that. What, exactly?’
Carl struggled to suppress a smile. ‘Okay, but what I’m about to tell ya goes no further. Right?’
Marcus nodded and leaned forward. ‘There’s this fella called Enzo Agostini. Met him at one of the strip clubs over on East? Well, his daddy is some big name in the black market. He says the World Government is gearin’ up to leave this hellhole and us behind.’
‘And the extra credit?’
‘Doin’ jobs fer Enzo.’ Carl necked the rest of his drink and grimaced. He turned to the bartender and pointed at his glass. The bartender poured another.
‘Why haven’t I heard of this crowd?’
‘Been keepin’ it a secret to see if it turns into anythin’.’
‘So get me some work with this Enzo. If you’re making more than the cleaning job, why are you still even there?’
Carl smirked. ‘Didn’t wantcha gettin’ lonely in there all by yerself.’
Carl got up and paid for his second whiskey at the bar. He returned and sat back down.
‘Fuck you, Carl. You had a better job offer and you didn’t share it with me?’
Carl sat back. ‘Relax, Maaarcus. I was always gonna tell ya. Enzo only had a few jobs for me to do, so I didn’t wanna share. That’s all.’
Marcus hated it when Carl elongated his name. He mirrored his friend’s casual pose. ‘And now?’
‘Well, Enzo says his daddy’s gearin’ to make a move when the World Government makes up its mind. There’s a bunch of factions planning on comin’ in from outta town. The ones who run the black market in New York and beyond, they’re gettin’ nervous. The Agostinis need to make sure no outsiders get in when the time comes. They’re recruitin’ now, gettin’ their numbers up.’
The black market was an illegal operation that sold contraband goods to people under the World Government’s nose. Stuff like real liquor, and failed World Government prototypes from Nanoid Valley. Their most lucrative business was facial reconstruction and identity/security chip replacements.
But there were rumours the government had a vested interest in keeping the market alive, that they used it to control the criminals deemed too difficult to manage. Marcus’ father was a regular trader at the pop-up market that would operate in a different location in the city each week. His business kept him away from home, leaving Marcus to raise himself. His mother had died when he was three years old.
A dipshit and a liar. That’s what the others had called his father when Marcus, at age twelve, had looked for him at the market he’d spent three whole days trying to find, after his father had been missing for a week.
One man had told Marcus his father was busy and not to look for him again.
‘He must be an important man, your father, if he’s away from home so much. How about you come see me and I’ll fix you up with a few jobs?’
Marcus had declined and relayed his conversation to Carl.
Carl had responded with his usual suspicions. ‘That man’s a fucking liar. Your daddy’s dead, Maaarcus. Like mine is. Hasn’t been home for a month now. At least your mother had the courtesy of dyin’. Not like mine who ran off with another fella. It’s just you an’ me now. Better get used to it.�
�
The factions were divided up according to families; blood was thicker than water in this business. Three factions ruled New York where the first black market operation originally started. Some had close ties with the World Government, most did not. But on an operational level, everything ran fairly. No hierarchy sat above the black market. Who controlled each market depended on the faction who controlled the region.
But if the World Government was leaving, the order of the factions, whose cloak and dagger operations were repressed under a powerful government, would be blown wide open. And if new factions were coming in from out of town, there must be something big to this move.
Marcus wouldn’t be left on the sidelines when those changes happened.
He watched a glassy-eyed Carl order another drink with a swirl of his finger.
When he had his attention again, Marcus said, ‘Get me a meeting with this Enzo. How soon can you arrange it?’
2
Two years later
The Kings—run by Gaetano, Alfonso and Erico Agostini—had been in business for a long time, but had exclusive control of the New York area for just five months. Word had spread of the World Government’s imminent move to Exilon 5, prompting the opposing factions to make an early move on the New York area. Gaetano and his two brothers who ran the other two factions in the area had done enough to keep them out. Because the military still outnumbered the criminals in the New York area, the Agostinis had agreed to bide their time before they took over.
Marcus sat in his bedroom inside one of the dilapidated properties close to Waverley docking station. It was one of Gaetano’s safe houses. Marcus had met Gaetano only twice and his two brothers once before. For the day to day stuff, he dealt with Enzo, Gaetano’s son.
‘I’m so fucking sick of waiting around, Enzo,’ said Marcus. ‘Why aren’t we out there doing something?’
‘Because my father says it’s not time. If we tip our hand to the military about our plans, the World Government will get wind of it.’
A group of ten men, including Carl, had gathered in the living room of the rundown two-storey property. Marcus hoped there would be better digs than this when they took over.
‘But the World Government doesn’t give a shit about what happens here.’
‘They care enough to leave military on Earth,’ said Enzo. ‘They want to protect their properties here.’
For the last year and a half, Marcus had watched a steady flow of people leave Earth through the docking stations, but there was still no word on the World Government’s departure.
‘Okay, so when are we gonna take the old Deighton Mansion up in Astoria Park?’ said Carl. ‘This place is a dump.’
Enzo pinched the top of his nose and sighed. ‘I told you, already. The government still occupies the mansion. One of the board members uses the house. Tanya Li. There’s military everywhere... Jesus. You’re all a bunch of idiots.’
‘I’m only sayin’ we need to get in there before them other factions. The ones run by your daddy’s brothers.’
‘Alfonso and Erico wouldn’t betray my father like that.’
The Agostini family controlled the entire New York area as far as Long Island to upstate New York. They called themselves the Kings because of the Agostinis’ supposed connection to Italian royalty back in the day. But the opposing factions tested that family bond with lies and rumours. For now, the Kings maintained control and quashed any rumours designed to break apart their kingdom.
But everyone was feeling the pressure; the safe house buzzed with unrestrained energy. When the World Government called time, which could be any day now, the factions would need to be ready, and that meant plenty of jobs to be done in preparation.
‘My father wants people watching the docking station and the mansion tonight,’ said Enzo. They’d been spying on Charles Deighton’s old place for months now. But amid the rumours, nothing had changed. It was still occupied. ‘Marcus, Carl, Freddy: you three are on watch tonight. Jensen, Heller: you’re on docking station duty. Report back on any changes in the situations there. As soon as the military presence lessens, we’ll take the station and the spacecraft. Father wants the crafts as a Plan B if this takeover goes bad.’
Marcus had ditched his cleaning job as soon as he’d met Enzo Agostini. First impressions of Enzo had left Marcus with a good feeling about the move. He’d moved into a safe house in Manhattan, before being relocated to Waverley to watch the Deighton Mansion and the docking station. Similar groups of men watched other properties. But long periods of inaction had left the men restless. So much so that Gaetano had visited the safe house, told them to sit tight, and assured them that new businesses needed time to get off the ground.
But Marcus’ opinion of Enzo shifted fast when he saw him with his father. Gaetano was tall, confident and spoke with an easy tone. Enzo spoke too quickly, was quick to anger and didn’t command the same respect as his father. Marcus hadn’t noticed the difference until both men stood in the same room.
‘Sure thing, Enzo,’ said Marcus. ‘We’ll get the job done.’
☼
Marcus, Carl and Freddy approached Astoria Park on foot. The park was nothing more than a barren wasteland of rolling brown grass hills and cracked concrete paths, with a disused swimming pool for good measure.
A rectangular, grey, concrete building with a dozen windows sat positioned between the two concrete struts of the Hell Gate railway bridge, in what used to be the East River. A large wall surrounded the property. Marcus felt the beginnings of the force field, long before they reached the approach road to the mansion.
They stayed behind another bridge strut, further out from the house. Using broken bricks in the structure as footholds, Marcus climbed up first and settled on a ledge they’d created by removing loose bricks halfway up the strut. The other two joined him and Freddy used a pair of magnifying glasses to spy on the location.
‘What can you see?’ said Marcus.
‘Not much. There’s no movement.’
From their position, they could see over the perimeter wall and inside the top level of the house and the area to the front of the property.
‘Do you think they’re gone?’
‘Maybe. Can’t be sure from here.’
But Marcus had a feeling. They’d checked on the house just two days ago and had seen people milling about through the top-floor windows.
‘What about cars?’
‘No cars out front.’
‘But the force field is still up. So that’s got to mean something,’ said Marcus.
Freddy shrugged and handed the glasses to Marcus. He put them on and checked for himself. No lights were on. The place looked abandoned, except for two military guarding the front stoop.
Marcus handed the glasses to Carl. ‘Do you think they’ve left Earth already?’
‘Possibly,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean there’s usually a dozen military buzzing around this place. But it seems odd the government didn’t mention it, or at least announce it.’
‘Maybe they didn’t want to give us a heads-up, let the military get settled before we came out of the woodwork.’
‘Maybe.’
Everyone in the faction waited daily for the World Government to announce their departure. Some wondered if they would even bother announcing it. Marcus wouldn’t put it past them. The World Government believed they owed the people nothing.
Carl flashed his decayed teeth as he looked through the glasses. ‘You know what that means?’
‘What?’
Carl removed the glasses and nodded at the house. ‘No more sharing a single bathroom with twenty dirty fuckers.’
They watched the mansion a while longer, then headed back to the safe house to report to Enzo. Marcus found him pacing the floor of the living room. Jensen and Heller, who’d been watching the docking station, were with him.
‘Fuckers are gone,’ said Enzo.
‘Who?’ said Marcus.
Enzo stared at him. ‘The
World Government. Who do you think?’
‘How do you know?’
‘The spacecraft are all gone. The station is locked up tight.’
Marcus still didn’t understand. ‘But that’s a good thing, right? We wanted them to go.’
Enzo’s temper flared. ‘Jesus. They’ve just taken our only way off this planet. We’re stuck here on this hellhole whether we like it or not.’
3
2171 – Five years later
The pitch black of Isobel’s room offered none of its usual comfort. She felt strange, not quite herself since she’d discovered she was human. Isobel touched the near-translucent skin on her arm. Her clothes—a light tunic and trouser ensemble—fit her lean and tall body perfectly. Her hairless head was smooth, unblemished. She was an Indigene. But something pulled her back to her other life, the one before she was altered.
Another vague memory invaded her thoughts. It was of him: her husband when she was human. She could remember partial things, like how it felt to be touched by him, or snippets of conversations. But the words, the things they had said to each other, remained out of reach. She concentrated on the sound of his voice, his touch. One sounded strange, the other lacked comfort.
No matter how hard she tried, the detail of her husband’s face refused to come to her. Sounds and sensations that had been natural to her as a human, felt alien to her now. The sounds in the district that evening were nothing more than low murmurs, making it easy for her to block out the distractions. In one of her more recent memories, her husband had said: ‘We’re always going out. How about I cook tonight?’
Did her husband cook? She had no idea. But she remembered that they rarely ate alone.
‘I can rustle up something from the replicator,’ he had said. ‘What do you want?’
