‘Roger that, Taggart. Over,’ said Jones.
‘Oh, and make sure it’s alive,’ said Bill. ‘Nobody is to harm the alien. Understood?’
Jones’ silence spoke volumes. Bill would forgive their poor execution if he could get a moment with the Indigene before it was carted off to the ESC or World Government.
He paced the living room. The mission should have been a done deal. Everything had been so convenient: the second meeting, the chance to talk to the boy, the recording equipment. If they came away with nothing, then Daphne Gilchrist would be all over him.
Another voice broke through. ‘Officer Page here. We are pursuing the alien but it’s too quick for us. It seems to know the streets pretty well. Over.’ Her breathless words indicated that she was on the move.
‘Don’t you dare lose it, Page. If it gets into the tunnel system, then we won’t have a hope in hell of tracking it.’
‘I understand that, Taggart, but you need to know it’s not looking good.’
‘I don’t want to hear it, Page.’
‘The alien knows we’re following and has altered its pattern through the crowds to try to shake us. As I’ve already said, we can’t match its speed.’ Page took a few deep breaths before continuing. ‘It’s at the corner of Buckingham Palace Road and Victoria Street, and now has a clear view of the train station entrance. I’ve got to go. Over.’
‘Shit.’
Radio silence. A few tense minutes followed without an update. Bill tried to practise patience but failed. They had to capture the Indigene before it reached safety; he needed it alive and unharmed. When the World Government scientists and geneticists got their hands on it, when they had finished their extensive tests, he doubted they would keep it alive. His team’s best chance of capture was to reach the Indigene before it entered the station. But it knew the underground tunnels for the Maglev train better than the humans who had built them.
His uneasiness increased as he considered the similarities between the two races. The first sightings on record had reported a crude and animal-like species, something that seemed well-founded. It also stated that the creatures possessed subhuman intelligence, which was clearly a gross misinterpretation.
Aliens possessing superior intelligence? Bill shuddered at the thought. If they were superior in intellect, were their two races so incapable of living together harmoniously? What if they’d managed to survive so long because they killed others that opposed them? Had they perceived Isla to be a threat? They must have. But going on the Indigene’s behaviour that day, something didn’t seem right. Something else didn’t fit the reports.
A new voice shrilled through Bill’s earpiece. He jumped again, but the adrenaline was depleting and he was beginning to feel sluggish.
‘Caldwell here. We are in Victoria station. Over.’
‘Well, did you capture it?’
‘It’s gone.’
11
Stephen bolted for the eastern exit to Belgrave Square Gardens. His rapid movements created an invisible distortion in Exilon 5’s air. He worked hard to distance himself from the military, skipping and stumbling over the uneven terrain. With the exit in sight, he launched himself towards the gate, just as a group of men entered. He twisted and stretched his body around them, creating a sudden gust of wind. His primary concern was reaching the safety of District Three where he could breathe unhindered and find protection.
Stephen sprinted to Upper Belgrave Street in the New Westminster area but was forced to slow his pace down to blend in with the dense crowd. He could hear the train in the distance. He was close to the Maglev train station in the Victoria district where he could easily reach the tunnels leading to District Three.
The elders would be waiting for his report. He had nothing good to tell them; Pierre and Elise would be shocked to find out about the nature of the Surface Creatures.
‘Human.’
He repeated the word until he shivered. In all of the literature he’d read, not once had there been any reference to humans. Other words had described their race: people, dreamers, philosophers, engineers.
The crowd slowed him down so much it forced him to mimic the movement of those closest to him. He pressed on with an uncoordinated step.
Attract as little attention as possible.
Being so close to the humans made his skin crawl. He wondered how they would react if they knew what he really was.
At the end of the road, he took a sharp left onto Hobart Place. The military were hot on his trail. He could pick up their scent; they were already too close. He quickened his pace. Distracted by his pursuers, he almost collided with a line of humans waiting for a replication terminal to open. He skidded to an almost-stop, leaned away from the crowd and accelerated along the length of the line.
His pulse quickened when he saw the area around Grosvenor Gardens was heavily crowded. He slowed once more. The military were also getting closer; their scents were coming through much stronger now. He turned to see them arrive at the corner of Hobart Place at the spot he had just vacated.
He tried to inject new pace into his step. But the crowd hindered him and with the military bridging the gap, he was relieved when the Maglev station fell into view. He was only a short distance away from the entrance when a mass exit of humans from the station blocked his path to safety. Fear rippled through him as he tried to avoid them. He tensed up as they knocked and jostled him about. He held his breath and, against every natural instinct, burrowed in deeper, right into the core of the swell. Tears of frustration formed, and the lenses in his eyes moved with every blink.
Without his natural defences of speed and strength, he was just like them: weak and useless. The feeling the crowd could overpower him at any moment was too much, but he reminded himself that he was an efficient hunter. The train tunnelled through the dark pits below, and he heard the familiar low whirring as it rode the Maglev rail.
Stephen kept his walk slow and deliberate, lowering his head to try to make himself inconspicuous. Once inside, he could navigate the halls with speed and dexterity, but not out here, where he struggled to use his speed effectively. Still, if he was struggling to get through, his pursuers would be, too. In the areas where the crowd thinned out, he risked extra speed; the gap between him and the military was too narrow.
With one final push, he ran inside the station and headed for the tunnels. A queue had already formed at the gate. He leapt over the turnstile. Alarms shrilled and people yelled. Survival was his only concern.
Stephen took long elegant strides towards the tunnels heading west and arrived on an almost-empty platform; a train had just passed. He could hear the military voices approaching from the level above him. This time, he was sure they would follow him into the murky depths of the train tunnels. He didn’t stick around to check. He leapt off the end of the platform onto the tracks, hitting the ground running. He followed the tunnel for about a mile in a westerly direction until he reached a section that split off into two routes. He took the left tunnel and carried on for another two miles. To the right, he felt around for the opening he couldn’t see with the brown lenses still in his eyes. He found it, and squeezed through a narrow gap; one of many they had created across the railway network. He pulled both lenses out and placed them in his pocket. He would return them to Anton later.
The narrow gap linked to a series of passageways that led to the core of his district, each one protected by a false wall. In the low oxygen and pitch-black environment, only small insects survived; the military would at least need safety equipment to follow him. Without the lenses, Stephen could see the subtle markers that had been carved into the false walls. There were hundreds of dead ends across the Victoria passageways and only twenty or so that led to District Three. A sudden strain in his lungs caught him off-guard and he wheezed. His filtration device was almost out of power, and with only trace amounts of breathable air in this part of the maze, he would suffocate. He shortened his breath and kept moving towards District
Three. With his coordination affected, he stumbled through the miles of tunnels, taking left and right turns when the markers appeared. Along the way, he activated false doors hidden inside the false walls to close behind him.
A mile on and the power had drained completely. Stephen’s lungs burned as he tried to suck in air. Before him was the omega door that led into the sealed environment. Recognition software scanned his genetic code and authorised his entry. The impenetrable door slid back into the rock face and he stumbled inside, his breathing now ragged. His breaths were short and uncomfortable.
The outer door sealed shut, while a smaller one leading into the inner sanctum remained closed. He could hear the first of the air pumps as it whirred into action. His lungs burned hot and his chest ached with the effort of keeping him alive. He willed the pumps to work faster; the larger of the two sucked the contaminated air out of the chamber, while the smaller one released air from inside the controlled environment. He fell to his knees, feeling his mind slipping into unconsciousness.
The inner door released and he crawled inside, yanking the pieces of the air filtration device out of his throat and nose. His mouth snatched at air and pulled it deep into his lungs. His body relaxed as he lay on the floor, exhausted.
Stephen got to his feet, ignoring the dizziness. He wanted to rest for longer, but there was no time. He stumbled forwards, fighting against his weakened body as he went looking for Pierre and Elise.
His news would shock them. They needed to plan their next move.
12
Jenny Waterson’s growling stomach distracted her from going to find Stuart straight away. Eight hours without having eaten anything was making her light-headed. The food on-board the space craft, while packed with nutrients, tasted like cardboard. The quality of food on Earth was abysmal.
She arrived at one of HJA’s four self-service canteens, nestled in the eastern part of the station. The long room with enough space for eight hundred seated workers was divided up into several rows of black tables and white chairs. Dozens of silver-and-black replication machines were pressed up against the longest walls.
She grabbed a tray and joined the queue. She reached a vacant machine and ordered beans on toast, with a side order of sausage, a chicken pot pie, two black coffees and three pieces of chocolate cake. The replicator food was calorie controlled. Finding a free seat, she sat down hard. The exhaustion was overwhelming. She ate her main meal and one piece of chocolate cake. Nursing her coffee in one hand, she consoled herself with the knowledge that her current shift was ending after one last run to Sydney.
Jenny lived in Brisbane, Australia, in one of the downtown apartment blocks that had once overlooked the city’s river, a prime spot until the government filled it in over fifty years ago to build more apartments. From Sydney it would only take her forty minutes to reach home on one of the high-speed Maglev trains. She planned to get some rest there during her eight-hour break.
Stuart walked into the canteen. Her previous irritation with him returned, but with food in her stomach, it didn’t feel as venomous.
Stuart was a handsome man with chestnut-brown hair and strong blue eyes. His face was dotted with expression lines that he said gave it character. He’d refused to have work done at one of the genetic manipulation clinics, citing the place was for “metrosexuals only”. His slightly expanded middle stretched the uniform he wore. The one thing he could never accept was going grey or losing his hair, and he had privately availed of the “Bald be Gone” genetic treatment.
After a divorce and raising her only child, Jenny had enlisted at the Air and Space Control Academy to pursue her passion for flying. It was where she had first met Stuart, and they had spent a number of years as controllers working together in the docking station at Auckland, New Zealand. At fifty-five, she began her training as a pilot in earnest, having completed just four years as a controller. Stuart remained where he was, eventually being offered the role of Operations Overseer in Auckland. He had worked in HJA for nearly ten years now.
Stuart waved at Jenny and mock-staggered over to her table. Under other circumstances, she would have laughed hard at her friend’s dark humour—he was a teetotaller—but she was not in the mood.
‘I see you found me then.’ She stared at her cup.
‘Not hard in this place,’ he said, holding up both thumbs where their chips—both identity and security—were located. ‘Our very own tracking devices.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘What happened to your hair?’
Jenny ran a hand across the nape of her neck. ‘I fancied a change.’ With back-to-back shifts, she found she had little time or patience for personal grooming.
‘I think it looks good on you.’
She sighed. ‘Stuart, stop playing dumb. You know I’m pissed off with you, right?’
He raised a single brow. ‘I can’t imagine why.’ He looked at the empty dishes on the table in front of her, most of them licked clean. He pulled one of the plates with a piece of chocolate cake towards him.
‘Galen almost cost me my job, you asshole!’
‘Jesus, Jenny. Calm down.’ Stuart glanced around. ‘The cameras!’
Her eyes stopped on a single roving camera hovering over a group of trainees in one corner of the room. When her voice rose, it turned around to look in their direction.
Jenny leaned forwards. ‘Do you know what Calypso Couriers said to me a month ago? That my job is on the line. I always knew it would be a risk when I reached Grade Four but I didn’t think they would actually warn me. I can’t take any chances, Stu. Not anymore.’
‘I’m sorry, Jen, I didn’t know.’
Her anger subsided a little.
The roving camera gave up on them and turned around to focus on the trainees again. Several of them looked nervous, shifting in their seats; others tried to act brazenly, as if the camera’s presence wasn’t an issue.
‘Why couldn’t you have given me Maria?’
‘I did. She was supervising him. Look, Calypso are a bunch of shits if you ask me. You don’t need their drama. Why don’t you consider going out on your own again? You still have that rust-bucket in storage, don’t you?’
Yes, she did still have her old spacecraft and it was a long time since she had done freelance piloting work—it was how she had started out in the industry after getting her pilot’s licence—but she didn’t relish the idea of being her own boss again. She had got used to receiving a steady wage at the end of each month.
‘I don’t know, Stu. Seems like a lot of hassle after a steady job of, what has it been now, twenty years?’
He leaned forwards and grabbed her hands. ‘Look, if they’re causing you such grief, then quit before they try to fire you. You deserve better than this.’ He let go.
Jenny exhaled and picked up her fork. She scooped up some of the chocolate cake and shoved it into her mouth. It had the texture of sponge but tasted like dirt that had been sprinkled with cocoa powder. She had tried real chocolate cake once before, in Cantaloupe restaurant; it had been heaven on a fork. Places like Cantaloupe weren’t for the likes of her on a pilot’s income, but it was hard to eat replicated food with the memory of what real food tasted like.
‘I’m sorry, Jenny, but I have an obligation to let my trainees loose. Galen still needs to learn.’
‘You’re taking unnecessary risks, Stuart. You know that.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’
She looked up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Shit, Stu. What have you done?’
‘Nothing!’ He pushed the plate closer to her. ‘Eat your food.’
She pushed another lump of cake into her mouth. She felt a little sick, but she needed the calories. ‘Promise me you won’t use him on my schedule again.’
‘I wouldn’t have allowed anything to happen, you know that.’
She did.
‘How about taking some proper time off, Jenny? I mean more than the eight-hour layovers they g
ive you.’
Jenny eyed him.
‘I’m just saying. You look stressed. You need to start thinking about your health.’
‘And if I take time off now, I might as well hand in my resignation. Not an option, I’m afraid.’ The camera turned around again, seeking them out.
Stuart glanced at it and changed the subject. ‘How’s your daughter?’
‘Eleanor’s doing well.’ Jenny finally put down her fork and pushed her plate away. She couldn’t eat another bite. ‘She’s thinking of starting another course in college, decided to change career paths from law to politics. She can’t sit still for five minutes, that one. So like her father. How about you? Any decent women decided to make an honest man of you yet?’
‘Never going to happen. I’ve had my fill of wives, ex-wives, the lot. I’m planning on living out the rest of my life as a single bachelor.’ Stuart remained stubbornly single after his last wife had almost bankrupted him. He’d been married three times before that and was still paying for his mistakes. Luckily, he hadn’t fathered any children with them.
‘You look stressed, Stuart. Are you sleeping okay?’ Jenny pushed all the plates to one side and propped her elbows on the table.
‘Name one person who gets decent sleep on this hellhole,’ he said, gesturing.
Jenny pondered, then smiled. ‘Calypso Couriers.’
‘I’ll toast to them burning in hell.’ They both raised an imaginary glass and mock-toasted to the image.
She smiled, but couldn’t shake the feeling that Stuart was hiding something. ‘Is everything alright with you?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘You’re looking a little off, that’s all. Look, the skin rejuvenation place isn’t just about appearances. It can make you feel like a whole new person. There’s a walk-in clinic in Jacksonville.’
‘Sorry, no can do. I’m a real man. Everything au naturel, including my face.’
Her mouth lifted into a smile. ‘And you’re very handsome. Think about it. What time does your shift end?’
‘Three this afternoon. You?’
‘One last run to Sydney and a layover for eight hours. I haven’t had any time off for a full week now. I’m exhausted.’ She yawned.