Provenance I - Flee The Bonds (7 page)

He stepped through and turned right.

Dry air hummed. Inside the tubes, the anti-matter struggled in a vacuum against its magnetic bonds. They’d both seen the demonstration; each tube contained enough anti-matter to annihilate a ship ten times the size of Provenance. AMS 1 held one hundred and twenty tubes, a quarter of the total.

Dee glanced over his shoulder. ‘You sure your Cogent’s off.’

‘Yes.’

After forty metres, the mesh fence gave way to solid walls. The corridor opened into a monitoring station. In the far wall, a multi-point door closed off their exit.

Dee pressed against the doorway. Pale square panels covered the left-hand wall, each one a myriad of lights and digital readouts. He swapped sides. On the right, the avocado tunic of a MECTECH lounged at a long metal console. Above it, a large screen displayed the one hundred and twenty AM tubes in a ten-by-twelve matrix.

Dee stabbed his index finger right and reached behind for the
Silencer
. The one-piece titanium assault dagger carried an inscription that swelled his chest every time he read it. ‘
People die, heroes live forever.
’ It had been awarded to Dee’s father for the blood he’d lost fighting the Resistance. When his dad retired, Dee had inherited the family honour. He wouldn’t fail in defending either.

He crept into the station, his footfalls silent on the metal deck. The blond haired MECTECH idled in a low-back chair, drumming the console’s metal trim with a pen.

The chair spun around.

Dee lunged, the
Silencer’s
honed edge pushing up into the quivering chin. The silver number ten on the MECTECH’s tan epaulettes and single bar on his mandarin collar ranked him a Level 10 Sub-Lieutenant.

‘Steady LT. Hands away from the console.’

The pale faced lieutenant raised his hands; he didn’t look much older than a lastborn.
Probably a TYPE — that’s how he heard me.

‘Alpha two, get in here and watch the door.’

Dee watched the Lieutenant’s fearful eyes track Bo across the station, ‘Yeah, big ain’t he. Stand up, Lieutenant . . .?’

‘Heinsen, sir.’

Dee shoved Heinsen towards Bo. ‘Open the door, LT.’

‘No.’

Despite his size, Bo was fast. He grabbed Heinsen’s tunic and slammed him against the flickering panels.

Dee leant in; his narrowing eyes no more than a pencil length from Heinsen’s reddened face. ‘Open the door, or my friend here is gonna break your neck.’

‘I can’t, I—I’ll be terminated.’

Dee glanced up at Bo and smiled. ‘You sure will be if you don’t.’

The tan epaulettes sloped. ‘I can’t.’

Dee chewed his bottom lip. Jason might be okay with it, but Steve wouldn’t be happy if they damaged the LT. He removed his MCD and offered it over. ‘Enter the key code for today. No one’s gonna pin that on you.’

Heinsen did as asked. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Dee studied the MCD, ‘Did you know about the exercise?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Dee looked up. ‘Did you mess with the suits in MH six?’

‘No, sir! I don’t know how to sabotage the suits.’

‘Who said anything about sabotage?’

Heinsen’s wide eyes backed away from Bo’s glare, ‘It-it was discussed, that is all I know.’

Bo’s fist flashed past Dee, the hammer blow connecting with Heinsen’s tan waistband. He crumpled to the floor, his body heaved, lungs gulped.

Dee extended his arm across Bo’s chest, ‘Who discussed it?’

Heinsen raised a colourless face, his breathing rapid and shallow, ‘Ca-Cap-Captain Neva. Starboard control.’

Dee grabbed Heinsen’s tunic and hauled him to his feet. ‘Thank you, LT, and if the alarm goes off before we reach control, I’ll tell Command you opened the door while abandoning your post.’

Once outside the station, Dee directed Bo to the nearest deck-car and tapped in the destination code. While the deck counter flipped through the numbers, he unclipped his holster. Away from the hazardous AMS area, they were Cogent free.

The deck-car bleeped, and the doors swished open. They were ready; the Defender guarding the entrance to Starboard Control was not.

Pointing his MCD at the keypad, Dee waited for the doors to part before stepping over the groaning Defender and entering the darkened control room.

‘Who are you?’

Dee swung his head in the direction of the female voice. ‘Everyone stay where you are.’

A two-metre-high console, illuminated with an assortment of screens, dials, and switches, curved around three walls. Four seated MECTECHs faced the screens, each enveloped in an aura of pale blue. Above them, a metre high viewer mirrored the curvature of the console, its multi-coloured schematic of the starboard drive shining out.

The female approached. ‘This is a restricted station.’

Ignoring her, Dee glanced over his shoulder. ‘Ramp up the light, alpha two, and cover the door.’ Dee blinked in the surgical glare and walked to the centre of the room, his readiness fixed on the female officer. The gold epaulettes on the figure-hugging blue uniform put her in charge.

She smiled, her sharp blue eyes piercing from beneath an even sharper platinum-blonde bun. ‘Well done, I did not think you would succeed.’

Succeed or survive? ‘Why’s that?’

She shrugged. ‘It was a difficult task.’

‘We ain’t finished yet.’ Dee pointed his Cogent up at the schematic, ‘You still haven’t reached critical mass, maybe we can help.’ He sauntered over to the console and tapped the Cogent’s barrel on the MECTECH’s epaulette. ‘Disengage the magnetic coupler on tubes one through six, load all rods, and wait for my command.’

‘Stop! No!’

Dee winced at the shrill pitch of her voice. He swung around. ‘What are you gonna do?’

‘You cannot load six tubes at once, without the sequencing code it will become unstable.’

‘But I can, can’t I?’ Dee holstered his Cogent, ‘You’d better sort it before the Resistance arrive.’

Of all the collective sighs, hers was the loudest. ‘How did you know?’

‘Never mind, just get it fixed.’ He couldn’t tell her Steve had told him — this was his mission, his kudos.

He joined Bo by the door. ‘One more thing, where’s Captain Neva?’

The figure-hugging uniform stepped forward. ‘That’s me, I’m Captain Neva.’

Dee grinned up at his best friend.
‘Mission over.’

18:49 SAT 21:10:2119

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

Kacee reflected in the full-length mirror. The two-piece
Catherine Valare
lingerie felt amazing. Black Chantilly lace was expensive, but sensuality was priceless. She tilted her head and stroked an extended arm. She’d indulged too long in the vanilla scented bath water and the line of puncture scars had only just faded, unlike her childhood memories. Memories shredded by nightmares of clinics that had hurt and made her cry.

Kacee was a new breed, better than a TYPE 7 and worse.

Her mom and dad had spent their considerable wealth making her special. She could never forgive them for succeeding. Inside her perfect body was an empty shell. Men lusted after her, but none dared to love her.

Kacee had left home on her twenty-first birthday, returning only once. To kill them both.

She finished dressing, sat on the edge of the bed, and inserted a micro earpiece before tapping the MCD screen. The PSYOPS PSI emblem rotated as the encrypted uplink made a connection.

‘Hello Lieutenant Merblayn.’ The voice was female, and computer generated.

For security reasons, PSYOPS had decided to keep her handler’s identity secret, something Kacee didn’t find reassuring. Did they expect her to get caught? She obscured her mouth with the MCD and whispered. ‘I’ve arrived at Captain Thibeauchet’s house.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes.’
Sort of
.

‘CONSEC expect Commander Arrowsbury to arrange a training mission next week. We will transmit the details. It is vital we know why SIS are interested in him, and how Captain Thibeauchet and Thibeauchet Technology are involved. We believe SIS intend to use the new artificial infiltrators against CONSEC; observe Lieutenant Hipparcho and report anything suspicious. Remember Kacee, trust no one and do whatever SIS asks. Good luck, PSYOPS Command out.’

Kacee stared at the blank screen. The Council’s attention was fixed on the Resistance and behind them, SIS crept up.

After a final check in the mirror, she left her room. Aware that Francois would know also.

As she descended the sweeping staircase, the hem of Kacee’s scarlet chiffon dress caressed the stone steps. The giant pear shaped chandelier glittered, its twinkling reflection sinking into the glassy chequered floor below. To her right, gilt framed portraits depicted an era of female oppression. The women demure yet alluring, the men proud and resplendent. She wasn’t sure whom she despised most.

A handsome man in a cadet-grey suit waited for her at the bottom of stairs. He smiled politely and extended his gloved hand.

She followed him to the end of the statue-lined corridor where he simultaneously heaved open the two colonial doors and stepped aside.

‘Thank you.’ With her mouth firmly closed, Kacee stepped into the dazzling opulence.

Wearing a black evening suit and open-neck white shirt Francois stood by an enormous fireplace, its pale stone covered with intricate carvings. Life-size portraits and paintings of uniformed men on rearing horses’ hung over the burgundy fabric walls. As he approached his footfalls sank into a sumptuous cream and gold rug. His face beamed approval. ‘
Magnifique
.’

When he bowed to kiss her hand, she inhaled deeply, heaving her chest against the dress. His eyes slipped up.

Francois escorted her to one of several red silk and gilt-wood sofas. Kacee sat, her eyes meandering up to a painting of a proud woman in 18
^th
century costume and a skyscraping wig. ‘Is that Pauline?’

Francois followed her gaze, ‘Yes. That is
Pauline
. What has Colette said?’

His spiky tone put Kacee on the defensive, ‘Nothing much, just that Pauline had been a family friend.’ She was well aware of Francois’s pride in his Napoleonic heritage.
So what mustn’t Colette talk about?

He recovered quickly, ‘Yes, a friend, that is true. How is your
boudoir
, you have everything you need?’

‘Yes, thank you, it’s wonderful.’ She’d always thought boudoir sounded grubby, but here it belonged.

Francois picked two flutes of pale blush from a silver tray and handed one to her. He raised his glass. ‘
Santé.
’

‘
Santé.
’ The delicate effervescence caressed her tongue, releasing a hint of blackcurrant. ‘Everything about your house is fantastic.’

‘Thank you, I wish you could stay to enjoy it.’

She reached out and touched his arm. ‘I’d love to — when we’re not working.’

He was her work, and Kacee’s body was adept at getting results.

‘Ah yes, unfortunately my evaluation must wait. I have to go to headquarters, but I would like very much that you stay here until I return.’

Dinner passed in a glittering procession of gold cutlery and crystal glasses. Francois had even installed heaters on the moonlit balcony where they’d finished the
soirée
with small coffees and large brandies. For the sake of her assignment, she’d decided to repay his attentiveness. Intimacy and trust sleep well together.

* * * *
 

Kacee rested her elbow on the satin pillow and watched his naked body cross the polished floor. At the door, he turned and smiled. ‘
Bonne nuit, ma Cherie.
’

‘Good night, Francois.’

As the door closed, she rolled onto her back, the pink satin sheet flowing over her smooth abdomen. Hunched shoulders, outstretched arms and an arched back accompanied her lustful moan. She directed her performance at one of the three cameras in her room. Cameras well hidden from human eyes, but not from hers.

23:52 SAT 21:10:2119

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

Francois returned to his room and dressed, the scent of sweet vanilla still clinging to his body.

Ten minutes later, he strode up the ramp from the chateau’s shielded underground garage and into the soundless night. Artificial Human 74-317 accompanied him; direct from the production line of
Thibeauchet Technologie’s
secret laboratory at Sophia Antipolis.
Why build one, when SIS can pay for two.
It had specific programming, but no identity. A blank canvas waiting for its master’s strokes. Francois had named it Roustam.

They approached the Orangery from the rear lawn, their footfalls silent on the ebonised grass. Moonlight platinised the slate roof and reflected white off arched window shutters. As a precaution, Francois intended to remain out of sight. Should his plan fail, any witnesses would corroborate that Roustam had acted alone.

He stopped and placed his hand on Roustam’s shoulder ‘
J'attends ici. Bonne chance.
’

Francois crouched and watched the black coveralls evaporate into the night. This was an operation of great risk, but he needed Morton’s allegiance. You cannot coerce an artificial. You have to replace them.

Kacee’s bedroom cameras weren’t unique; there were hundreds on the estate, including five in each of the Orangery’s four apartments. Francois took out his MCD, tapped the screen, and watched.

* * * *
 

In response to the knocking, Morton eased up from the settee and left the fire-lit sitting room for the darkened hallway. The camera remained fixed on the radiating wood stove, its fiery glow painting the front of the settee amber, while casting a long shadow across the ceramic tiles behind.

Morton returned, stopped by the stove and spun around. Roustam crashed into him and the pair fell writhing onto the hearthrug. A violent nudge against the settee produced a screech that bounced off the cream walls. Roustam raised his fist and powered it down onto Morton’s cheekbone. Morton’s fists rammed into Roustam’s chest, propelling him into the air and sending him crashing down onto the tiles. Both sprang to bended knees, bodies hunched, heads raised. Roustam drove again, pushing Morton backwards, out of shot. The camera continued to stare at the empty settee, dishevelled rug, and glowing stove.