Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (20 page)

Steve led Gerhard along a yellow crosshatched walkway. The transformers’ high-pitched whine added to the profound vibration that filled the cavernous building and seeped into his chest. The walkway branched left.

He stopped at a silver door and withdrew his Cogent. ‘Stay close.’

The vast assembly hall’s glossy concrete floor stretched away to the left under a canopy of lights. Beneath the serpentine gantry, blue production stations straddled a half-metre wide track, their tunnels intermittently irradiating the track’s metallic surface. Static robots fed the line with clinical precision, the whirr of their mechanical arms adding to an invariable rhythm. On the right wall, a two-by-four bank of monitors hung above a desk console. A black swivel chair, like the blank screens, gathered dust. Steve nodded. ‘No cameras.’

‘I do not understand; a guard is always here.’

Steve’s gaze passed over the console to the shipping office’s blue-grey door in the opposite wall, ‘Maybe they still are.’

The door was sealed, its lock fused. Steve ran a finger through the ashen residue encircling the lock.
Where are you?

They returned to the console, and turned right to face the assembly line. On both sides of them, a metal crossover bridge led up to the gantry and over the track. Steve raised his hand. ‘Wait here.’ He edged towards the open metal staircase and climbed.

At the top, he turned left onto the gantry. Ahead, a gigavolt generator hung from chains like a giant waterfall chandelier, its circular bundles of glassy tubes pulsing white heat. Fed by kraken-sized tentacles of silvered cables, the radiating bundles tapered into an opening on top of the fusion initiator station.

Steve crouched down on the perforated metal deck and peered through the railings at the W-shaped assembly line curving between the stations. The largest, the initiator station, was the size of a shipping container.

Production started in the diagonally opposite corner, next to a pair of double doors. It ran for about thirty metres before curving inwards. Along this section, multi-armed robots picked components from bins in the outer wall and fed them to the insatiable track. The first component selected was one-half of a black Prefect shell.

Within the first and third curved sections of the assembly line an oval track circulated, each fed by a conveyor belt rising from an opening in the floor and each utilising a robotic arm to transfer these components to the main track. His eyes narrowed on the farthest oval track and something he’d never seen before. A white cube.

He gripped the metal railing above his head, leaned out and looked left. Once through the fusion initiator, the assembled Prefects entered the smaller diagnostic station, before disappearing through an opening in the far wall.

His shoulders pinched together as he shuddered, the gust of warm air made him realise how cold he was.

Steve’s head spun faster than his body. The black Prefect shaved his right shoulder plate and clanged into the railing. Rebound energy flung him onto the metal grating; his Cogent clattered out of reach.

He scrambled to the stairs, grabbed the handrails and jumped.
‘Prefect!’

12:13 MON 30:10:2119

Intra Zone, Seine
-
et
-
Marne, France, Sector 2

Dee walked beside Michelle, his boots scrunching the path’s cream gravel. Her arm breezed through the air. ‘They must need a lotta people to take care of all this.’

Dee’s thoughts hardened on the Orangery garden’s geometric grass segments and ranks of lollipop trees.
Typical goldtop, everything, and everybody, in its place.

‘Yeah I guess. Mom and Dad okay?’

‘It’s boring stuck indoors all the time, but they’re glad to be here. When can they meet Steve?’

Dee knew where this was heading. Michelle had recovered and so had her single-mindedness.

‘Dunno, maybe in a day or two.’

He felt a tug on his arm, ‘Why won’t you help him?’

‘Whadda ya mean?’

She shook her head, her hair reflecting mahogany in the afternoon sun. ‘For someone with a masters you sure are dumb. Steve wants your help with those black Prefects.’

Dee’s boots corkscrewed into the gravel, his hands clamped her yellow polka-dot sleeves. ‘Forget everything you heard, Elle; this ain’t one of your good causes. It’s too risky, for everyone.’

Her arms jerked free, smoky eyes burned. ‘I ain’t your kid sister anymore, Dee.’

His eyes fell to her protective clasp. ‘I know, and now Dad’s retired I’m responsible for
all
the family.’ Steve could live without a family, Dee couldn’t.

Michelle huffed. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

‘Get what?’

‘What’s really going on? You spend all your time chasing the Resistance; you never see what’s happening in the real world. Do you know who reported me?’

‘No.’

‘Fletch Saunders, and do you know why?’

A sigh escaped. ‘No.’ He knew Fletch Saunders though. He’d been their neighbour for years, worked at CONSEC logistics.

‘One hundred credits. That’s what eleven years of friendship’s worth, a lousy one hundred credits. We trusted him and he betrayed us for a weekend at Ocean World.’

‘I guess he thought he was doing his duty.’ Duty or not Dee would be sending Fletch a titanium tipped message.

Her head rolled back, the laugh hinted at derision. ‘Duty had nothing to do with it. He did it cos he thought it would improve his chances of getting upstairs. That’s what Continuity is now, a back-stabbing bunch of informers.’ She looked into his eyes, ‘No wonder the Resistance are so popular.’

Dee raised his eyebrows, ‘Careful, Elle. I love you, but the Resistance have killed a lotta my friends.’

She reached out and touched his arm. ‘I know, Dee, I’m sorry, but you gotta understand what it’s like back home, people are losing faith. It was perfect once, everyone working to build Provenance. “Building a road to the new world” and all that. But it was a lie, wasn’t it? We were okay cos grand-pappy’s family had a credit line. Nobody asked why the Drones’ life expectancy kept going down.’ Her head dropped. ‘And their miscarriages and stillbirths kept going up.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Have you been on the Resistance network again?’

She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Yes I have, and if you weren’t scared of the truth so would you.’

His boot toe furrowed the gravel, ‘We’d better be getting back.’ He couldn’t expect her to understand. It had never been about right or wrong, what mattered was survival. He hoped one day she’d understand.

‘So you gonna help Steve?’

He stood his ground and met her gaze. ‘Francois’s in charge now.’

‘Oh yeah, Francois, the little man in the big house. How come he’s stuck us out here?’

Dee turned and stared beyond the single storey Orangery towards the towering chateau. ‘Don’t be ungrateful; he’s taking a risk shielding Mom and Dad here.’ Dee was grateful, and complicit.

‘Steve risked his life for me, for you, you owe him that.’

‘He didn’t risk his life for me. He rescued you so I’d help him.’ Dee bit his bottom lip; he wished he hadn’t said that. She grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her.

‘That’s cheap.’ She tilted her head. ‘Why didn’t you come and get me?’

Michelle didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You know why, you’ve said it yourself. Steve’s probably the only person who could have rescued me.’ She stabbed at his shoulder. ‘You gonna let that chip drive a wedge between you?’

His pride wouldn’t allow consensus. Steve’s reaction times were fast enough for Dee to suspect he was a TYPE. He lowered his voice. ‘If you hadn’t got pregnant none of this would have happened.’

Defiance leapt into her eyes. ‘Well I’m glad I did, cos love is the only thing left worth fighting for.’

‘Oh yeah. Did you ever see him again once he found out?’

A smile formed and her hands returned to her hips. ‘Yeah I did, he was at the wedding.’

Dee hadn’t noticed. His gaze darted to the shiny band on her left hand.

‘His name’s Elliot
and
he’s a Drone.’

12:29 MON 30:10:2119

MP
14, Neuhame, Austria, Sector 2

Steve’s boots slammed down onto the assembly hall’s concrete floor. He grabbed Gerhard’s arm, but it was too late. The Prefect dropped from above; bouncing up off Gerhard’s left shoulder plate and vanishing into the ceiling of light. Gerhard collapsed to his knees, his bellowing cry roaring above the mechanical cadence. Steve grabbed his suit and dragged him towards the gantry. ‘Get under the track.’

Steve followed, squeezed between the metal track supports and flipped onto his back. ‘We’ll try for the basement. How’s the shoulder?’

‘I think it is broken.’

From within the protective stanchions, they slid backwards beneath the track.

Steve continued until he felt the sizzling heat of the initiator station. To his left the opening in the floor appeared deceptively closer than five metres. Gerhard arrived a few minutes later, his progress hampered by his trailing arm.

Steve swivelled around to face the track supports. ‘I’ll distract the Prefect, when I say go, head for the basement.’ After sweeping his gaze across the canopy of lights, he squeezed through and sprinted to the crossover bridge.

With both hands gripping the staircase’s handrails, Steve inhaled deeply and bounded up the open steps. At the top and without breaking stride he dived towards the Cogent. The Prefect hovered at the end of the gantry. Steve’s gloved hand scraped across the metal mesh and closed around the Cogent’s grip.

The Cogent rose, Steve’s eyes widened, the Prefect had already cleared the railings. His sweeping hand squeezed the trigger, the plasma ball struck, enveloping the Prefect’s black shell in a crackling swirl of electric-blue strands. It didn’t stop. He grabbed the top rail and pulled himself up. ‘Go!’ Gerhard exited from beneath the track, and stumbled.

Steve rolled the serrated wheel of his new Cogent to red. Too late. The Prefect swooped down onto Gerhard’s injured shoulder, pinning him to the floor. Gerhard kicked frantically, his boots leaving black scuffmarks on the polished concrete. The Prefect twisted; Gerhard cried out in pain.

Steve gritted his teeth and vaulted the railings, falling two metres before his boots pounded onto the roof of a production station. The Prefect spun and flew towards him. Steve leapt, thudded onto his right hip plate, and slid off the station’s curved roof. His boots struck the concrete three metres below, aching knees buckled under the spine-jarring shock.

He twisted at the waist and raised the Cogent. ‘Move, Gerhard!’

The amplified plasma ball hit the corner of the Prefect, engulfing the black shell in an orb of eye-stabbing brilliance. The orb rose, releasing tendrils of crackling incandescence that arced between the gantry’s railings and showered sparks onto the production station roof.

Within seconds, the iridescence vanished. Steve’s shoulders sagged. Beneath the red-hot gantry, the smouldering Prefect pivoted towards him. He dived, squeezed into the barred refuge beneath the track and shuffled towards the fusion initiator. To his left, an empty expanse confirmed Gerhard’s escape.

When a rectangular shadow appeared on the floor to his right, Steve pumped his burning limbs harder. The shadow followed.

Buzzing heat from the initiator station prickled the back of Steve’s neck. He stopped. The black Prefect lowered itself into view; its scorched outer casing blotched with ash-grey. It moved closer, light glinting off its saucer-sized lens. Steve swivelled to face the basement opening, placed both feet against the opposite stanchion, and tightened his grip on the one in front.

The blow struck the soles of his boots with such force that his body spun. His helmet smashed against the stanchions, the right eye-protector shattered. Before he could orientate himself, the second blow struck. The clangourous resonance pummelled his aching head and the elongated screech impaled his eardrums. The Prefect had broken through.

Steve rested the back of his helmet against the initiator station. The air burned, acidic and sweet.

He reached inside his helmet and pulled the particulate respirator across parched lips. Above his head, a low murmuring broke the cycle of flashes, pitching up before exploding into an excruciating crack of electric white. Something thicker than sweat dripped into his right eye.

The Prefect glided towards him. It had enough vertical clearance under the track, but not enough between the supports to turn around. A thin black line widened in its scorched casing and the stub of a barrel extended from its weapons port.

Steve’s helmet thudded onto the floor. Using his palms and heels, he pushed himself under the initiator station. Yellow heat seared his masked face and burned his exposed eye. There was nothing to hold.

He continued to push, his legs struggling to bend in the coffin-sized tunnel. Each time he arched his back, the breastplate scraped the shiny metal ceiling a hand width above his face. Not that claustrophobia was his primary concern. Fusion initiators radiated more than heat.

High above his sweltering body, the gigavolt capacitors discharged a two-million-joule relativistic ion beam into a rod of compressed deuterium, heating it to a temperature six times hotter than the sun’s core. The deuterium rod imploded in the confinement field, igniting a thermonuclear burn and initiating fusion. Fusion reactors powered Prefects.

Sweat trickled down Steve’s neck, his hands slipped inside moist gloves and his left wrist vibrated at two-second intervals. He knew why. The flashing MPS icon would be a black three-bladed propeller superimposed on a red background. He was being irradiated.

As his shoulders exited the station, a smile spread across his sweat-drenched face. Over the methodical rhythm rose the chaotic clatter of the Prefect’s escape attempt. Steve pulled himself through the track supports and dashed towards the basement opening.

13:36 MON 30:10:2119

MP
14, Neuhame, Austria, Sector 2

Steve squinted into Gerhard’s helmet beam.

‘It’s me.’