Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (30 page)

It was during her secondment to Judiciary Command that she’d discovered the full extent of her
uniqueness
. Synthetic collagen fibres that could blunt scalpels, bone tissue cavities filled with para-aramid fibres. Her fifth metacarpal, like the rest of her body, was a product of engineering. She let her hand fall, her face twisting in anger and disgust. She wasn’t unique, just a freak.

Her agitation diminished as her thoughts returned to the one question that troubled her more than any other. Why would SIS want to wipe the memory of Steve’s girlfriend?

It should have been easy, and yet when the time came Kacee couldn’t deliver the full dose. She’d seen something in Penny’s hazel eyes that she loathed and yearned for with all her being.

Her gaze sank to the mink coloured carpet. She hoped Steve would understand why she’d had to obey. There was never a choice with SIS.

While she was airborne, another SIS assignment had arrived. However, somebody had already terminated Jannae Kalckburg, and taken the cube. They’d also wiped Jannae’s surveillance tapes, Steve hadn’t had time. The two Defenders guarding Jannae’s apartment had allowed Kacee to take the only witness back to hers. She smiled at the ginger cat curled up in the middle of her bed. Whatever Steve might be, he definitely wasn’t SIS.

Kacee needed time to think, or plan her escape. She’d contact the Judiciary from Central.

Her hand reached for the dresser drawer, and stopped. The doorbell chimed again. By the time she reached the lobby her temples pulsed. She pressed a button beneath the monitor.

‘Hi, Francois.’

Francois’s doleful eyes projected concern into the camera. ‘Kacee, I am sorry, Albert had
amoureux fervent
. I try to call, but you do not answer.’

Kacee glanced at her MPS, she’d gone off net, and yet still he’d found her. She pressed another button. ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Hold on, I’ll turn off the bath.’

She didn’t move. Francois lowered his immaculately coiffured head.

‘
D’accord, ma Cherie
.’

Kacee’s heart pumped faster, had she missed something? A few more seconds passed, no, there, movement imperceptible to human eyes. Francois’s gaze sidled towards the penumbra of a shadow. Someone stood to his left, against the wall. She dashed back to the bedroom, secured the cat in her ruckall, and kicked off her shoes.

The sliding window closed with a click. Icy air swirled around her rigid bare feet and pincer like hands as they bit into the brickwork. At eighteen, they’d removed her nails, replacing keratin with nanocrystalline diamond.

Kacee began the climb down.

When she reached the second floor, she scribed a circle in the glass with her index finger, flicked it out, and opened the window.

After releasing the cat into the darkness of Jannae’s apartment, Kacee opened a door of the empty wardrobe and stepped inside.

Her head jerked up at the ceiling, they’d broken in.

She took out her MCD and sat down. The wardrobe’s abyssal interior blossomed into pale blue. Tapping the screen twice rendered a four by two grid of images. In segment 1-1, her open front door with a jagged hole where the lock used to be. She touched 3-2. Francois wandered out of view; the other person spun around, strode towards her and revealed his perfect teeth.
Morton.

Kacee switched off the MCD, drew up her legs, and hugged them. Her mom’s voice swirled in the enveloping black cloud. ‘Kacee-Marie, where are you?’ She hugged tighter. She’d only wanted to be normal, to be loved. Francois had used her and betrayed her, just like everyone else.

She squeezed her watery eyes shut. When she opened them the dark receded, replaced by an achromic view of the wardrobe interior. There was one person she could trust, although when he made the connection, he’d want to kill her more than anyone.

23:48 FRI 03:11:2119

Deck-Car 19-08-00, Provenance, LEO

Steve looked up at the digital readout above the deck-car doors. They’d arrive in nineteen seconds. ‘You don’t have to come with me.’

‘Yes I do.’

Alex had exchanged his SCITECH uniform for a tan leather jacket, sky-blue roll-neck jumper, and fawn trousers. Steve preferred inconspicuous monochrome.

The deck-car doors parted.

Docking Station 6 was the size of a small supermarket, its square ceiling lights reflecting off rows of navy-blue plastic seats separated by a central aisle. Steve’s gaze skipped over the empty seats to the orderly queues at the ten departure gates. Defence Vessel 11 was boarding.

* * * *
 

Steve blinked in the cabin’s harsh glare. Configured to carry a full troop, this Praetorian had five rows of ten seats in each of its six oblong segments. He turned left into the port aisle. There were three visible colours: the white cabin, the charcoal carpet, and olive combat seats. All tarnished. DV-11 was the Praetorian training ship.

At the bulkhead, Steve placed their ruckalls inside and turned around. His eyes narrowed; passengers had begun to fill the forward segment, some very senior passengers.

Steve chose a centre-row seat, facing the bulkhead’s scuffed white panels. The narrow doorway to the right allowed, with the correct authorisation, access to the cockpit. ‘Better grab a seat quick.’ Alex sat on his right.

As people took their seats, a dark blue and white uniform caught Steve’s attention. He unclipped his harness and walked over to the port front row.

Admiral Smithson rose and extended his hand; keen blue-steel eyes stared out from under a severe platinum haircut. ‘I thought you were dead.’

Steve shook the Admiral’s hand. ‘I had to go off net, sir.’

The Admiral nodded towards the bulkhead.

Once there, he rested his hand on Steve’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about Lacusta. By the time I found out what Choo had done, it was too late. He said he’d detected an EM surge with a sigma tag to your MPS
and
SIS visited your boat last weekend.’ Smithson’s grip tightened. ‘Tell me you’re not mixed up in this, Steve.’

‘Not willingly, sir. The Resistance targeted me at the same time as Jason and for some reason SIS intercepted the Merlins. Unfortunately, they only deflected mine. The SIS uniform seen at my boat was me, I’ll explain later. I think Thibeauchet’s collaborating with SIS, and in turn they’re supplying the Resistance with tech.’

‘You’re right. Choo’s been having second thoughts about his new masters, and now they have his wife he’s leaking more than sweat. We suspected SIS were trying to take control of CONSEC so we’ve been working with the Judiciary to put AH-74s in the Quads.’ Smithson shook his head. ‘SCITECH created a clean batch of HPUs and it still went haywire. One by one we lost the downlink to them all. Lacusta was one of a few left under our control. I’m glad he didn’t find you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Steve buried any culpability under self-defence. If he’d been Choo, he probably would’ve reached the same conclusion.

Smithson’s face hardened, ‘SIS are purging the ship of anyone who doesn’t fit their Exemplar profile. I’m organising a joint meeting with Sector Commands at the Pentagon.’

Steve lowered his voice, ‘Colossus isn’t going to hit. I’ve seen the feed, they miscalculated.’

Smithson’s gaze fell away. ‘
That’s
why SIS insisted on taking control of the tracking stations — God help us.’

‘They’ve also found the correction algorithm. I think SIS will use the Resistance to take control of Provenance and then kill everyone left on Earth.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

Smithson’s eyes leapt up. ‘Taking command of Provenance has to be the priority — what’s up?’

‘We’ve lost control of Citadel. Which means SIS have coerced at least some of SCITECH into helping them.’

Smithson stroked his temple. ‘That’s not so good.’

‘I have an idea, sir. If SIS want me alive, I might be able to get to the bridge during the attack and shut down the AHs and Prefects.’

‘That’s gonna be tough.’

‘Not if I’m leading the bridge assault.’

Smithson’s face creased. ‘True enough.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Whatever Thibeauchet may think, he’s not in charge. The Judiciary have a UFO close to him who’s intercepted a lot of encoded comms. SIS are talking to an AH.’

‘And I think I know who.’ Steve glanced into the cabin, attracted by a series of clicks. The cabin doors had closed. ‘I’ll brief you when we get downstairs, sir.’

Smithson slapped Steve’s shoulder. ‘See you on the ground, Commander.’

Steve returned to his seat and strapped himself in. He’d concluded SIS no longer trusted Francois and Alex was his new minder. The
why
continued to pound against a wall of rationale.

Alex fiddled with his harness, ‘Have you been on this ship before?’

Steve allowed his head to sink into the faux olive leather. ‘Lots. I trained on this one, every Advocate does, did.’ He pointed at the scratched bulkhead. ‘Can’t you tell?’

 Alex’s head tilted up. ‘How did scuff marks get up
there
?’

‘It’s from the tranship evac drills—’ Steve jerked forward. ‘Lock your ankles, we’re on the rail.’

The electromagnetic rails ran the perimeter of the rotating inner hull, when DV-11 reached its designated port it would switch to an outer rail and into the departure bay.

Steve’s seat moved away as his body lightened, the lights dimmed and the Praetorian clunked to a halt.

Moments later, his seat reasserted itself as DV-11 accelerated up its departure lane towards the exit port. A distance of nearly one kilometre.

The load on Steve’s body lifted, they’d left Provenance. He glanced right. ‘There you go, nothing to bump into out here.’

‘We still have to land.’

Steve didn’t respond to Alex’s disquiet. He could have reeled off the safety features, such as a hyperlon drive that could vector enough downward thrust to lift two Praetorians or cargo segments capable of targeted re-entry using extendable wings and nitrogen thrusters. But he didn’t. The greater the complexity, the more Alex would find to go wrong. Steve knew from experience. Matt hadn’t liked flying either.

Pressure on his body increased. DV-11’s attack angle was set; they’d reached the re-entry corridor. He lifted his MPS, waited ten seconds, and lowered it.

‘What’s wrong?’ Fear glazed Alex’s wide eyes.

Steve thought for a moment.
No point in lying — and no point in creating a panic.
He leant in and whispered, ‘The nose shield hasn’t deployed.’

Alex shifted in his seat. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because if it had we’d have felt it.’

Steve unclipped his harness, stood, and glanced left. Admiral Smithson nodded.

He turned to Alex. ‘Do you have the cockpit lockout code?’

‘Yes.’

Steve waited, ‘Well, what is it?’

‘I’m coming with you?’

A fresh-faced Defender on Alex’s right looked up, his left arm immobilised across his chest in a pressure cast. He had the downcast face and dull eyes of someone who’d become accustomed to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Steve removed his ID and held out the shimmering card. ‘Routine op.’

The Defender’s face brightened. ‘Yes, sir.’

Steve leant into Alex’s ear. ‘Stay here, if the crew need help I’ll call. Let me know if anyone follows.’

Alex sighed. ‘Okay.’

He peeked down at Alex’s MCD, 4-6-2-9-4.

Steve stepped through the cockpit doorway, turned left into a narrow corridor, and walked towards a hazy green light slicing in from an opening on the right. The metal walls felt cool, their vibration irregular. At the opening, he turned onto a short walkway.

Ahead, metal steps reflected the phosphorescence strips attached to the port and starboard bulkheads. Two unlit consoles flanked the walkway and the silvered harnesses of four empty high backed seats jingled.

The unoccupied seats weren’t unusual, but something was. No Praetorian ever left space dock without a weather report, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, today’s forecast is for clear skies with highs and lows of three degrees Kelvin. Chance of precipitation is zero and anyone venturing outside is reminded to apply at least factor-ten neutrino blocker.’

Steve approached the blue glow of the cockpit and began to climb. The handrails shuddered and the harnesses’ jingle became a distressed clatter. Adrenalin kicked in, his heart quickened. If the pilot had polymer skin, he’d have to move fast.

A pair of high backed seats each faced a block of four blue screens, their luminosity casting a cerulean hue across switch panels curving over the ceiling.

Both seats were empty.

Steve eased in front of the left seat and leaned towards the steeply racked windscreen. Against Earth’s celestial outline, DV-11’s conical nose glowed crimson.
Why hasn’t the shield deployed?

He sat down and tapped the screen in the top right quadrant to initiate the diagnostic. PSU 1 had failed, as had two and three. He glanced up at the HUD, 118,000 km, they’d passed re-entry interface. As his hand moved towards the joystick, a high-pitched ringing filled the cockpit and the once cool-blue screens flashed flame red.

One readout burned brightest of all, 826° centigrade. The nose cone would disintegrate at 1600°.

Steve withdrew his hand. Whoever had the knowledge to sabotage the Power Supply Units would also be aware of the abort procedures.

He stood; Earth had disappeared. DV-11 had automatically altered the angle of attack, its fiery nose sliced through a starlit wilderness. Steve glanced down, 972°. It had only delayed the inevitable.

Returning to the steps, he slid down, turned right off the walkway, and opened the door to the port avionics bay. Its forward bulkhead held the access point to the nose compartment and the shield’s manual servo pump.

Steve climbed through the hatchway and blinked in the hot astringent air. The cramped compartment’s curved surfaces absorbed the solitary ceiling light. Lowering his head, he moved forward. By the time he reached the servo pump’s control panel he was crawling.

Sweat dripped onto the control panel as he looked down and digested the three diagrammatic instructions: remove locking pin from button, rotate button until arrow aligns, press button. He did as instructed.